Unwind
by ThatKamesLover15
Summary: Kendall, James, and Logan must sick together to avoid being caught and sent to harvest camp. On their journey they will meet people who will be help and a threat. Love will strike unexpectedly, feelings getting in the way of their survival. Kames. Possible Cargan.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So I know I probably shouldn't be starting another story because I still have out all my other ones…but I couldn't help myself. I had this idea for a while, like two years ago or something. Anyways, this story is based off the book Unwind by Neal Shusterman. It's seriously a good book if you guys haven't read it already. Anyways, I just copied the entire book and changed the characters as you can see. I don't know if I'll be writing this story word for word from the book, but the first chapter is like that. **

**I do not own the book Unwind or Big Time Rush. The only ideas I have are combining the two together and adding in a few ideas of my own. **

**Anyway, I hope you all read and Enjoy! : )**

* * *

**Chapter One**

"There are places you can go," Jo tells him, "and a guy as smart as you has a decent chance of surviving to eighteen."

Kendall isn't so sure, but looking into Jo's eyes makes his doubts go away, if only for a moment. Her eyes are sweet violet with streaks of grey. She's such a slave to fashion-always getting the newest pigment injection the second it's in style. Kendall was never into that. He's always kept his eyes the color they came in. Green. He never even got tattoos like so many kids get these days when they're little. The only color on his skin is the tan it takes during the summer, but now, in November, it has faded to a pasty pale. He tries not to think about the fact that he'll never see the summer again. At least not as Kendall Knight. He still can't believe his life is being stolen from him at sixteen.

Jo's violet eyes begin to shine as they fill with tears that flow down her cheeks when she blinks. "Kendall, I'm so sorry." She holds him, and for that moment it seems as if everything is okay, as if they are the only two people on Earth. For that instant, Kendall feels invincible; untouchable, but she let's go. The moment passes and the world around him returns. Once more, he can feel the freeway beneath them as cars pass by, not knowing or caring that he's here. Once more he is one of them, a week short from unwinding.

The soft hopeful things Jo tells him don't help now. He can barely hear her over the rush of traffic. This place where they hide from the world is one of those dangerous places that make adults shake their heads, grateful that their own kids aren't stupid enough to hangout on the ledge of a freeway over pass. For Kendall, it's not about stupidity, or even rebellion – it's about feeling life. Sitting on the ledge, hidden behind an exit sign is where he feels most comfortable. Sure, one false step and he's road kill. Yet for Kendall, life on the edge is home. There have been no other girls, or boys, he has brought here, although he hasn't told Jo that. He closes his eyes, feeling the vibration of the traffic as if it's pulsing through his veins, a part of him. This has always been a good place to get away from fights with his parents, or when he feels generally boiled. But now, Kendall's beyond boiled - beyond fighting with his mom and dad. There's nothing to fight about. His parents' signed the order – it's a done deal.

"We should run away," Jo says. "I'm fed up with everything, too. My family, school…everything. I could kick AWOL and never look back."

Kendall hangs his head in thought. The thought of kicking AWOL by himself terrifies him. He might put up a tough front, he might act like a bad boy at school – but running away on his own? He doesn't even know if he has the guts. But if Jo comes, that's different. That's not alone. "Do you meant it?"

Jo looks at him with her magical eyes. "Sure. Sure I do. I could leave here. If you asked me to."

Kendall knows this is major. Running away with an Unwind – _that's _commitment. The fact that she would do it moves him beyond words. He kisses her, and in spite of everything going on in his life, Kendall suddenly feels like the luckiest guy in the world. He holds her, maybe a little too tightly because she starts to squirm. It just makes him want to hold her even more tightly, but he fights the urge and lets go. She smiles at him.

"AWOL…" She says. "What does that mean, anyway?"

"It's an old military term or something," Kendall says. "It means 'absent without leave'."

Jo thinks about it and grins. "Hmm. More like 'alive without lectures'."

Kendall takes her hand, trying hard not to squeeze it tightly. She said she'll go if he asked her. Only now he realizes he hasn't actually asked yet.

"Will you come with me, Jo?"

Jo smiles and nods. "Sure," She says. "Sure I will."

…

Jo's parents never liked Kendall. "We always knew he'd be an Unwind," he can just hear them saying. "You should have stayed away from the _Knight _boy." He was never 'Kendall' to them; he was always 'that Knight boy.' They think that just because he's been in and out of disciplinary school they have a right to judge him. Still, when he walks her home that afternoon, he stops short of her door, hiding behind a tree as she goes inside. Before he heads home, he thinks how hiding is going to be a way of life for both of them.

Home.

Kendall wonders how he can call the place he lives home when he's about to be evicted – not just from the place he sleeps, but from the hearts of those who are supposed to love him.

…

His father sits on a chair, watching the news as Kendall enters.

"Hi, dad."

His father points to some random carnage on the news.

"Clappers again."

"What did they hit this time?"

"They blew up an Old Navy in the North Akron mall."

"Hmm," says Kendall. "You'd think they'd have better taste."

"I don't find that funny."

Kendall's parents don't know that Kendall knows he's being unwound. He wasn't supposed to find out, but Kendall has always been good at ferreting out secrets. Three weeks ago, while looking for a stapler in his dad's home office, he found airplane tickets to the Bahamas. They were going on a family vacation over Thanksgiving. One problem though; there were only three tickets. His mother, his father and his younger sister. No ticket for him. At first he just figured the ticket was somewhere else, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed wrong. So Kendall went looking a little deeper when his parents were out and found it. The Unwind order. It had been signed in old-fashioned triplicate. The white copy was already gone, off with the authorities. The yellow copy would accompany Kendall to his end and the pink would stay with his parents as evidence for what they had done. Perhaps they would frame it and hang it alongside his first-grade picture.

The date on the order was the day before the Bahamas trip. He was going off to be unwound and they were going on vacation to make themselves feel better about it. The unfairness of it had made Kendall want to break something, a lot of things – but he hadn't. For once, he had held his temper, he kept his emotions hidden. Everyone knew that an unwind order was irreversible, so screaming and fighting wouldn't change a thing. Besides, he found a certain power in knowing his parent's secret. Now the blows he could deal them were so much more effective. Like the day he brought flowers home for his mother and she cried for hours. Or the B plus he brought home on a science test. Best grade he ever got in science. He handed it to his father, who looked at it, the color draining from his face. "See dad, my grades are getting better. I could even bring my grade up to an A by the end of the semester." An hour later his father was still sitting in the chair, still clutching the test in his hand and staring at the wall blankly. Kendall's motivations were simple: Make them suffer. Let them know for the rest of their lives what a horrible mistake they made. But there was no sweetness to this revenge, and now, three weeks of rubbing it in their faces has made him feel no better. In spite of himself he's starting to feel bad for his parents and he hates himself to feel this way.

"Did I miss dinner?"

Mr. Knight doesn't look away from the TV. "Your mother left a plate for you."

Kendall head off towards the kitchen, but halfway there he hears:

"Kendall?"

He turns to see his father looking at him. Not just looking, but staring. _He's going to tell me now,_ the blonde thinks. _He's going to tell me they're unwinding me and then break down in tears about how sorry sorry __**sorry**__ he is about it all. _If he does, Kendall just might accept the apology. He might even forgive him, and then tell him that he doesn't plan to be here when the Juvey-cops come to take him away. But in the end, all Mr. Knight says is, "Did you lock the door when you came in?"

"I'll do it now." Kendall locks the door then goes to his room, no longer hungry for whatever it is his mother saved for him.

…

At two in the morning, Kendall dresses in black and fills a backpack with the things that really matter to him. He still has room for three changes of clothes. He finds it amazing, when it comes down to it, how few things are worth taking. Memories mostly. Reminders of a time before things went so wrong between him and his parents. Between him and the rest of the world.

Kendall peeks in on his sister, thinks about waking her up to say good-bye, but then decides it's not the best idea he has ever came up with. Instead, he slips into the room, creeping over to his sister's bed and brushes the hair out of her face. He feels his eyes water, but hold back the tears as he bends down to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Don't worry too much about me baby sister, I'll be safe. Just be good for mom and dad so you don't end up like me," Kendall says, a silent tear rolling down his pale cheek. "I promise we'll see each other again, Katie. I promise." Kendall then places another kiss to Katie, hugging her quickly before slipping out of the room. He silently slips into the night. He can't take his bike because he installed an antitheft tracking device. Kendall never considered the he might be the one stealing it. Jo has bikes for the both of them though.

Jo's house is a twenty minute walk, if you take the conventional route. Suburban Minnesota neighborhoods never have streets that go in straight lines, so instead he takes the more direct route, through the woods and makes it there in ten. The lights in Jo's house are off. He expected this. It would have been suspicious if she stayed awake all night. Better to pretend she's sleeping so she won't alert any suspicions. He keeps his distance from the house. Jo's yard and front porch are equipped with motion-sensor lights that come on whenever anything moves into range. They're meant to scare off wild animals and criminals. Jo's parents are convinced that Kendall is both.

He pulls his phone out and dials the familiar number. From where he stands in the shadows at the edge of the backyard he can hear it ring in her room upstairs. Kendall disconnects quickly and ducks farther back into the shadows, for fear that Jo's parents might be looking out their windows. What is she thinking? Jo was supposed to leave her phone on vibrate! He makes a wide arc around the edge of the backyard, wide enough not to set off the lights, and although a light comes on when he steps onto the front porch, only Jo's bedroom faces that way. She comes to the door a few moments later, opening it not quite wide enough for her to come out or for him to go in.

"Hi, are you ready?" ask Kendall. Clearly she's not; she wears a robe over satin pajamas, blonde hair up in a messy bun. "You didn't forget, did you?"

"No, no, I didn't forget…"

"So hurry up! The sooner we get out of here, the more of a lead we'll get before anyone knows we're gone."

"Kendall," she says, "here's the thing…"

And the truth is right there in her voice, in the way it's such a strain for her to even say his name, the quiver of apology lingering in the air like an echo. She doesn't have to say anything after that, because he knows, but he lets her say it anyway. Because he sees how hard it is for here, and he wants it to be. He wants it to be the hardest thing she's ever done in her life.

"Kendall, I really want to go, I do…but it's just a really bad time for me. My sister's getting married, and you know she picked me to be the maid of honor. And then there's school."

"You _hate_ school," Kendall hisses. "You said you'd be dropping out when you turn sixteen."

"_Testing _out," she corrects him. "There's a difference.

"…So y-you're not coming?"

"I want to. I really, _really_ want to, Kendall…but I can't." Jo drops her head down to her chest, unable to meet Kendall's confused green eyes.

"S-so everything we talked about was just a bullshit lie?"

"No," Says Jo quickly, lifting up her head to stare Kendall in the eye. "It was a dream. Reality got in the way, that's all. And running away doesn't solve anything."

"Running away is the only way to save my life," Kendall snaps. "I'm about to be unwound, in case you forgot."

Jo gently touches his face, rubbing her thumb over his left cheek. "I know," she says softly. "But I'm not." Then she drops her hand just as a light comes on at the top of the stairs. Reflexively, Jo closes the door a few inches.

"Jo?" Kendall hears her mother say. "What is it? What are you doing at the door?"

Kendall backs up out of view, and Jo turns to look up the stairs. "Nothing, mom. I thought I saw a coyote from my window and I just wanted to make sure the cats weren't out."

"The cats are upstairs, honey. Close the door and go back to bed."

"So, I'm a coyote," Kendall speaks.

"Shush," says Jo, closing the door until there's just a tiny slit and all he can see is the edge of her face and a single violet eye. "You'll get away, I know you will. Call me once you're somewhere safe." Then she closes the door.

Kendall stands there for the longest time, until the motion sensor light goes out. Being alone had not been part of his plan, but he realizes it should have been. From the moment his parents signed those papers, Kendall was alone.

…

He can't take the train; he can't take a bus. Sure, he has enough money, but nothing's leaving until morning, and by then they'll be looking for him in all the obvious places. Unwinds on the run are so common these days, they have whole teams of Juvey-cops dedicated to finding them. The police have it down to an art. He knows he'd be able to disappear in a city, because there are so many faces, you never see the same one twice. He knows he can disappear in the country, where people are so few and far between; he could set up a house in an old barn and no one would think to look. But then, Kendall figures the police probably thought of that. They probably have every old barn set up to spring like a rat trap, snaring kids like him. Or maybe he's just being paranoid. No, Kendall knows his situation calls for justified caution – not just tonight, but for the next two years. Then once he turns eighteen, he's home free. After that, sure they can throw him in jails, they can put him on trial – but they can't unwind him. Surviving that long is the trick.

Down by the interstate there's a rest stop where truckers pull off the road for the night. This is where Kendall goes. The blonde figures he can slip in the back of an eighteen-wheeler, but he quickly learns that truckers keep their cargo locked. He curses himself for not having forethought enough to consider that. Thinking ahead has never been one of Kendall's strong points. If it was, he might not have gotten into the various situations that have plagued him over these past few years. Situations that got him labels like 'troubled' and 'at risk,' and this last one, 'unwind.'

There are about twenty parked trucks and a brightly lit diner where half a dozen truckers eat. It's 3:30 in the morning. Apparently truckers have their own biological clocks. Kendall watches and waits. Then, at about a quart to four, a police cruiser pulls silently into the truck stop. No lights, no siren. It slowly circles the lot like a shark. Kendall thinks he can hide, until he sees a second police car pulling in. There are too many lights over the lot for Kendall to hide in shadows, and he can't bolt without being seen in the bright moonlight. A patrol car comes around the far end of the lot. In a second, its headlights will be on him, so he rolls beneath a truck and prays the cops haven't seen him. He watches as the patrol car's wheels slowly roll past. On the other side of the eighteen-wheeler the second patrol car passes in the opposite direction. _Maybe this is just a routine check, _he thinks. _Maybe they're not looking for me._ The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself that's the case. They can't know he's gone yet. His father sleeps like a log and his mother never checks on Kendall during the night anymore.

Still, the police cars circle.

From his spot beneath the truck Kendall sees the driver's door of another eighteen-wheeler open. No – it's not the driver's door, it's the door to the little bedroom behind the cab. A trucker emerges, stretches and heads toward the truckstop bathrooms, leaving the door ajar. In a hairbreadth of a moment, Kendall makes a decision and bolts from his hiding spot, racing across the lot to that truck. Loose gravel skids out from under his feet as he runs. He doesn't know where the cop cars are anymore, but it doesn't matter. He committed himself to this course of action and he has to see it through. As he nears the door he sees headlights arcing around, about to turn toward him. He pulls open the door to the truck's sleeper, hurls himself inside, and pulls the door closed behind him. He sits on a bed not much bigger than a cot, catching his breath. What's his next move? The trucker will be back. Kendall has about five minutes of he's lucky, one minute if he's not. He peers beneath the bed. There's space down there where he can hide, but it's blocked by two duffle bags full of clothes. The blonde could pull them out, squeeze in, and pull the duffle bags back in front of him. The trucker would never know he's there. But even before he can get the first duffle bag out, the door swings open. Kendall just stands there, unable to react as the trucker reaches in to grab his jacket and sees him.

"Whoa! Who are you? What the hell you doin' in my truck?"

A police car cruises slowly past behind him.

"Please," the green-eyed teen says, his voice squeaky like it was before his voice changed. "Please, don't tell anyone. I've got to get out of this place." He reaches into his backpack, fumbling, and pulls out a wad of bills from his wallet. "You want money? I've got money. I'll give you all I've got."

"I don't want your money," the trucker says.

"All right, then what?"

Even in the din light the trucker must see the panic in Kendall's emerald eyes, but he doesn't say a thing.

"Please," says the blonde again. "I'll do anything you want…"

The trucker looks at him in silence for a moment more. "Is that so?" he finally says. Then he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

Kendall closes his eyes, not daring to consider what he's gotten himself into.

The trucker sits beside him. "What's your name?"

"Kendall." Then he realizes a moment too late he should have given a fake name.

The trucker scratches his beard stubble and thinks for a moment. "Let me show you something, Kendall." He reaches over Kendall and grabs, of all things, a deck of cards from a little pouch hanging next to the bed. "Did ya ever see this?" The trucker takes the deck of cards in one hand and does a skillful one-handed shuffle. "Pretty good, huh?"

Kendall, not knowing what to say, just nods.

"How about this?" Then he takes a single card and with sleight of hand makes the card vanish into thin air. Then he reaches over and pulls the card right out of Kendall's red flannel shirt pocket. "You like that?"

Kendall lets out a nervous laugh.

"Well, those tricks you just saw?" The trucker says, "I didn't do 'em."

"I…don't know what you mean."

The trucker rolls up his sleeve to reveal that the arm, which had done the tricks, had been grafted on at the elbow. "Ten years ago I feel asleep at the wheel," the trucker tells him. "Big accident. I lost an arm, a kidney and a few other things. I got new ones, though, and I pulled through." He looks at his hands, and now Kendall can see that the trick-card hand is a little different from the other one. The trucker's other hand has thicker finger, and the skin is a bit more olive in tone.

"So," says Kendall, "you got dealt a new hand."

The trucker laughs at that, then he becomes quiet for a moment, looking at his replacement hand. "These fingers here knew things the rest of me didn't. Muscle memory, they call it. And there's not a day that goes by that I don't wonder what other incredible things that kid who owned this arm knew, before he was unwound…whoever he was."

The trucker stands up. "You're lucky you came to me," he says. "There are truckers out there who'll take whatever you offer then turn you in."

"And you're not like that?"

"No, I'm not." He puts out his hand – his _other_ hand – and Kendall shakes it. "Gustavo Rocque," he introduces himself. "I'm heading north from here. You can ride with me till morning."

Kendall's relief is so great, it takes the wind right out of him. He can't even offer a thank-you.

"That bed there's not the most comfortable in the world, but does the job. Get yourself some rest. I just gotta go take a dump, and then we'll be on our way." Then he closes the door, and Kendall listens to his footsteps heading off towards the bathroom. Kendall finally lets his guard down and begins to feel his own exhaustion. The trucker didn't give him a destination, just a direction, and that's fine. North, south, east, west – it doesn't matter as long as it's far away from here. As for his next move, well, first he's got to get through this one before he can think about what comes next.

A minute later Kendall's already beginning to doze when he hears the shout from outside.

"We know you're in there! Come out now and you won't get hurt!"

Kendall's heart sinks. Gustavo Rocque has apparently pulled another sleight of hand. He's made Kendall appear for the police. Abracadabra. With his journey over before it even began, Kendall swings the door open to see three Juvey-cops aiming weapons.

But they're not aiming at him.

In fact, their backs are to him.

Across the way, the cab door swings open of the truck he had hidden under just a few minutes before, and a kid comes out from behind the empty driver's seat, his hands in the air. Kendall recognizes him right away. It's the kid he knows from school. Andy Jameson.

_My God, is Andy being unwound too?_

There's a look of fear on Andy's face, but beyond it is something worse. A look of utter defeat. That's when Kendall realizes his own folly. He'd been so surprised by this turn of events that he's still just standing there, exposed for anyone to see. Well, the policemen don't see him. But Andy does. He catches sight of the green-eyed teen, holds his gaze, only for a moment…

…and in that moment something remarkable happens.

The look of despair on Andy's face is suddenly replaced by a steely resolve bordering on triumph. He quickly looks away from Kendall and takes a few steps before the police grab him – steps _away_ from Kendall, so that the police still have their backs to him. Andy had seen him and had not given him away! If Andy has nothing else after this day, at least he'll have this small victory. Kendall leans back into the shadows of the truck and slowly pulls the door closed. Outside, as the police take Andy away, Kendall lies back down and his tears com as sudden as a summer downpour. He's not sure who he's crying for – for Andy, for himself, for Jo – and not knowing makes his tears flow all the more. Instead of wiping the tears away he lets them dry on his face like he used to when he was a little boy and the things he cried about were so insignificant that they'd be forgotten by morning.

The trucker never comes to check on him. Instead, Kendall hears the engine start and feels the truck pulling out. The gentle motion of the road rocks him to sleep.

…

The ring of Kendall's cell phone wakes him out of a deep sleep. He fights consciousness. He wants to go back to the dream he was having. It was about a place he was sure he had been to, although he couldn't quite remember when. He was in a cabin on a beach with his parents, before his sister was born. Kendall's legs had fallen through a rotted board on the porch into spiderwebs so thick, they felt like cotton. Kendall had screamed and screamed from the pain and the fear of the giant spiders that he was convinced would eat his leg off. And yet, this was a good dream – a good memory – because his father was there to pull him free and carry him inside, where they bandaged his leg and sat him by the fire with some kind of coder so flavorful, he could still taste it when he thought about it. His father told him a story he can no longer remember, but that's all right. It wasn't the story but the tone of his voice that mattered, a gentle baritone rumble as calming as waves breaking on a shore. Little-boy-Kendall drank his cider and leaned back against his mother pretending to fall asleep, but what he was really doing was trying to dissolve into the moment and make it last forever. In the dream he did dissolve. His whole being flowed into the cider cup, and his parents placed it gently on the table, close enough to the fire to keep it warm forever and always.

Stupid dreams. Even the good one are bad, because they remind you how poorly reality measures up.

His cell phone rings again, chasing away the last of the dream. Kendall almost answers it. The sleeper room of the truck is so dark, he doesn't realize at first that he's not in his own bed. The only thing that saves him is that he can't find his phone and he must turn on a light. When he finds a wall where his nightstand should be, he realizes that this isn't his room. The phone rings again. That's when it all comes back to him and he remembers where he is. Kendall finds his phone in his backpack. The phone ID says the call is from his father. So now his parent's know he's gone. Do they really think he'll answer his phone? He waits until voicemail takes the call, then he turns off the power. His watch says 7:30 a.m. He rubs the sleep out his eyes, trying to calculate how far they've come. The truck isn't moving anymore, but they must have traveled at least two hundred miles while he slept. It's a good start.

There's a knock on the door. "Come on out, kid. Your ride's over."

Kendall's not complaining – it was outrageously generous of this truck driver to do what he did. Kendall won't ask any more of him. He swings open the door and steps out to thank the man, but it's not Gustavo Rocque at the door. Rocque is a few yards away being handcuffed and in front of Kendall is a policeman: a Juvey-cop wearing a smile as big as all outdoors. Standing ten yards away is Kendall's father, still holding the cell phone he had just called from.

"It's over, son," Mr. Knight says.

It makes Kendall furious. _I'm not your son! _He wants to shout. _I stopped being your son when you signed the unwind order!_ But the shock of the moment leaves him speechless. It had been so stupid of Kendall to leave his cell phone on – that's how they tracked him – and he wonders how many other kids are caught by their own blind trust of technology. Well, Kendall's not going the way Andy Jameson did. He quickly assesses the situation. The truck has been pulled over to the side of the interstate by two highway patrol cars and a Juvey-cop unit. Traffic barrels past at seventy miles per hour, oblivious to the little drama unfolding on the shoulder. Kendall makes a split-second decision and bolts, pushing the officer against the truck and racing across the busy highway. Would they shoot an unarmed kid in the back, he wonders, or would they shoot him in the legs and spare his vital organs? As he races onto the interstate, cars swerve around him, but he keeps going.

"Kendall, stop!" he hears Mr. Knight yell, then a gun fire.

He feels the impact, but not in his skin. The bullet embeds in his backpack. He doesn't look behind him. Then, as he reaches the highway median, he hears another gunshot and a small blue splotch appears on the center divider. They're firing tranquilizer bullets. They're not trying taking him out, they're trying to take him down – and they're much more likely to fire tranq bullets at will, than regular bullets.

Kendall climbs over the center divider and finds himself in a path of a Cadillac that's not stopping for anything. The car swerves to avoid him and by sheer luck Kendall's momentum takes him just a few inches out of the Caddy's path. Its side mirror smacks him painfully in the ribs before the car screeches to a halt, sending the acrid stench of burned rubber up his nostrils. Holding his aching side, Kendall sees someone looking at him from an open window of the backseat. It's another kid, dressed in all white. The kid is terrified.

With the police already reaching the center divider, Kendall looks into the eyes of this frightened kid and knows what he has to do. It's time for another split-second decision. He reaches through the window, pulls up the lock, and opens the door.

* * *

James paces the backstage, waiting for his turn at the piano. He knows he could plat the sonata in his sleep – in fact, he often does. So many nights he would wake up to feel his fingers playing on the bedsheets. He would hear the music in his head and it would play for a few moments after he awoke, but then it would dissolve into the night, leaving nothing but his fingers drumming against the covers. He _has_ to know the Sonata. It _has _to come to him as easily as breathing.

"It's not a competition," Mrs. Wainwright always tells him. "There are no winners or losers at a recital."

Well, James knows better.

"James Diamond," the stage manager calls. "You're up."

He rolls his shoulders, smooth out his long chestnut hair, then he takes the stage. The applause from the audience is polite, nothing more. Some of it is genuine, for he does have friends out there, and teachers who want him to succeed. But mostly it's the obligatory applause from an audience waiting to be impressed.

Mrs. Wainwright is out there. She has been his piano teacher for five years. She's the closest thing James has to a parent. He's lucky. Not every kid at Minnesota State Home 23 has a teacher they can say that about. Most StaHo kids hate their teachers, because they see them as jailers. Ignoring the stiff formality of his recital dress pants, he sits at the piano; it's a concert Steinway as ebony as the night, and just as long.

Focus.

He keeps his eyes on the piano, forcing the audience to recede into darkness. The audience doesn't matter. All that matters is the piano and the glorious sounds he's about to charm out of it. He holds his fingers above the keys for a moment, then begins with perfect passion. Soon his fingers dance across the keys making the flawless seem facile. He makes the instrument sing…and then his left ring finger stumbles on a B-flat, slipping awkwardly onto B-natural.

A mistake.

It happens so quickly, it could go unnoticed – but not by James. He holds the wrong note in his mind and even as he continues playing, that note reverberates within him, growing to a crescendo, stealing his focus until he slips again, into a second wrong note and then, two minutes later, blow an entire chord. Tears begin to fill his hazel eyes and he can't see clearly.

_You don't need to see,_ he tells himself. _You just need to feel the music._ He can still pull out of this nosedive, cant he? His mistakes, which sound so awful to him, are barely noticeable. "Relax," Mrs. Wainwright would tell him. "No one is judging you." Perhaps she truly believes that – but the, she can afford to believe it. She's not fifteen, and she's never been a ward of the state.

Five mistakes.

Every one of them is small, subtle, but that are mistakes nonetheless. It would have been fine if any of the other kids' performances were less than stellar, but the others shined. Still, Mrs. Wainwright is all smiles when she greets James at the reception. "You were marvelous!" the African-American woman exclaims. "I'm proud of you."

"I stunk up the stage." James' head is downcast, pout on his tan face.

"Nonsense! You chose one of Chopin's most difficult pieces. Professionals can't get through it without an error or two. You did justice, honey!"

"I need more than justice."

Mrs. Wainwright sighs, but she doesn't deny it. "You're coming along nicely. I look forward to the day I see those hands playing in Carnegie Hall." Her smile is warm and genuine, as are the congratulations from the other girls and few boys in his dorm. It's enough warmth to ease him to sleep that night and to give him hope that maybe, just maybe, he's making too much of it and being unnecessarily hard on himself. He falls asleep thinking of what he might choose to play next.

James was more on the feminine side. He had a body shaped like a goddess, the only thing missing was him having boobs. He had long, brown hair that stopped just around his shoulders. He had beautiful hazel eyes that were surrounded by long eyelashes. He had rosy cheeks that came naturally and would give him off as the shy type. His lips full and luxurious. When James was around ten, the officials had separated him from the boys (once they found out which gender he preferred), afraid their hormones would take over and something happened. James wasn't the only boy to be rooming with girls. Any boy who preferred their same gender and were more feminine would book a room with the girls, and any girl that would rather make babies with a girl would book a room with the boys. It was the only way to keep the State House safe from young teens having children.

…

One week later James is called into the headmaster's office. There are three people there. A _tribunal_, thinks James. Three adults sitting in judgment, like the three monkeys; hear-no-evil, see-no-evil, speak-no-evil.

"Please sit down, James," says the headmaster.

The pretty boy tries to sit gracefully, but his knees, now unsteady, won't allow it. He slaps awkwardly down into a chair far too plush for an inquisition. James doesn't know the other two people sitting beside the headmaster, but they both look very official. Their demeanor is relaxed, as if this is business as usual for them. The woman to the headmaster's left identifies herself as the social worker assigned to James' 'case.' Until that moment, James didn't know he had a case. She says her name. Ms. Something-or-other. The name never even makes it into James' memory. She flips the pages of James' fifteen years of life as casually as if she were reading a newspaper.

"Let's see…you've been a ward of the state from birth. It looks like your behavior has been exemplary. Your grades have been respectful, but not excellent." Then the social worker looks up and smiles. "I saw your performance the other night. You were very good."

_Good,_ thinks James, _but not excellent._

Ms. Something-or-other leafs through the folder for a few more seconds, but James can tell she's not really looking. Whatever's going on here was decided long before James walked through the door.

"Why am I here?" James suddenly questions, catching the three adults off guard.

Ms. Something-or-other closes his folder and glances at the headmaster and the man beside him in an expensive suit. The suit nods, and the social worker turns back to James with a warm smile. "We feel you've reached your potential here," she says. "Headmaster Thomas and Mr. Paulson are in agreement with me."

James glances at the suit, eye narrowing. "Who's Mr. Paulson?"

The suit clears his throat and says, almost as an apology, "I'm the school's legal counsel."

"A lawyer? Why is there a lawyer here?"

"Just procedure," Headmaster Thomas tells him. He puts a finger to his collar, stretching it, as if his tie has suddenly become a noose. "It's school policy to have a lawyer present at these kinds of proceedings."

"And what kind of proceeding is this?" James asks slowly.

The three look at one another, none of them wanting to take the lead. Finally Ms. Something-or-other speaks up. "You must know that space in the state homes is at a premium these days, and with budget cuts, every StaHo is impacted – ours included."

James holds cold eye contact with her. "Wards of the state are guaranteed a place in state homes."

"Very true – but the guarantee only holds until thirteen."

Then all of a sudden everyone has something to say.

"The money only stretches so far," says the headmaster.

"Educational standards could be compromised," says the lawyer.

"We only want what's best for you, and all the other children here," finally the social worker.

And back and forth is goes like a three-way Ping-Pong match. James says noting, only listens.

"You're a good musician, but…"

"As I said, you've reached your potential."

"As far as you can go."

"Perhaps if you had chosen a less competitive course of study"

"Well, that's all water under the bridge."

"Our hands are tied."

"There are unwanted babies born every day – and not all of them get storked."

"We're obliged to take the ones that don't."

"We have to make room for every new ward."

"Which means cutting 5 percent of our teenage population."

"You understand, don't you?"

James can't listen anymore, so he shuts them up by saying what they don't have the courage to say themselves. "I'm being unwound?"

Silence. It's more of an answer than if they had said 'yes.'

The social worker reaches over to take James' hand, but James pulls it back before she can. "It's all right to be frightened. Change is always scary."

"Change?" James yells, "What do you mean 'change'? Dying is a little bit more than a 'change.'"

Headmaster Thomas' tie turns into a noose again, preventing blood from getting to his face. The lawyer opens his briefcase. "Please, Mr. Diamond. It's not dying, and I'm sure everyone here would be more comfortable if you didn't suggest something so blatantly inflammatory. The fact is, 100 percent of you will still be alive, just in a divided state." Then he reaches into his briefcase and hands James a colorful pamphlet. "This is a brochure from Twin Lakes Harvest Camp."

"It's a fine place," the headmaster says. "It's our facility of choice for all our Unwinds. In fact, my own nephew was unwound there."

"Goody for him." James says sarcastically.

"Change," repeated the social worker, ignoring James' attitude, "that's all. The way ice becomes water, the way water becomes clouds. _You will live_, James. Only in a different form."

But James is not hearing anymore. Panic has already started to set in. "I don't have to be a musician. I can do something else!"

Headmaster Thomas sadly shakes his head. "Too late for that, I'm afraid."

"No, it's not! I-I could work out! And join the military. I can become a boeuf!" James tries to argue.

The lawyer sighs in exasperation and looks at his watch. The social worker leans forward. "James, please. It takes years of training before joining the military and I'm afraid you have ran out of time for that."

"Don't I have a choice in this?" But when he looks behind him, the answer is clear. There are two guards waiting to make sure that he has no choice at all. And as they lead him away, he thinks of Mrs. Wainwright. With a bitter laugh, James realizes that she may get her wish after all. Someday she may see his hands playing in Carnegie Hall. Unfortunately, the rest of James won't be there.

…

He is not allowed to return to his dormitory. He will take nothing with him, because there's nothing he needs. That's the way it is with unwinds. Just a handful of his friends sneak down to the school's transportation center, stealing quick hugs and shedding quick tears, all the while looking over their shoulder, afraid of getting caught. Mrs. Wainwright does not come. This hurts James most of all.

The brunette beauty sleeps in a guest room in the home's welcome center, then, at dawn, he's loaded onto a bus full of kids being transferred from the huge StaHo complex to other places. He recognizes some faces, but doesn't actually know any of his travel companions. Across the aisle, a fairly nice-looking boy – a military boeuf by the look of him – gives James a smile.

"Hey," he says, flirting in a way only boeufs can.

"Hey," James says back, batting his eyelashes.

"I'm being transferred to the state naval academy," he says proudly, wide smile on his face as he looks over the beautiful boy before him. "How about you?"

"Oh, me?" James' cheeks go red as he quickly sifts through the air for something impressive. "Miss…Marple's Academy for the-the…Highly Gift-ed." James gives the black haired boy a charming smile, trying to ease away his confusion.

"He's lying," says a scrawny, pale boy sitting on James' other side. "He's an Unwind."

Suddenly the boeuf boy leans away, as of unwinding is contagious. His grey eyes widen as they scan around James. "Oh!" he says. "Well…uh…that's too bad. See ya!" And then he leaves to sit with some other boeufs in the back.

"Thanks." James snaps at the scrawny kid, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

The kid just shrugs. "It doesn't matter anyway." Then he holds up his hand to shake. "I'm Samson," he introduces himself. "I'm an Unwind too."

James almost laughs. Samson. Such a strong name for such a mealy boy. He doesn't shake his hand, still annoyed at having been exposed to the handsome boeuf.

"So what did you do to get yourself unwound?" James asks. Hey, he might as well make conversation seeing as he doesn't have anything else to do.

"It's not what I did, it's what I _didn't _do," Samson says and James just stares at him confused.

"What didn't you do?"

"Anything," Samson answers.

It makes no sense to James. Not doing anything is an easy path to unwinding.

"I was never going to amount to much anyway," Samson continues, "but now, statistically speaking, there's a better chance that some part of me will go on to greatness somewhere in the world. I'd rather be partly great than entirely useless."

The fact that his twisted logic almost makes sense just makes him angrier. "Hope you enjoy harvest camp, _Samson_." His says his name like it's venom, then leaves to find another seat.

"Please sit down!" Calls the chaperone from the front, but no one's listening to her. The bus if full of kids moving from seat to seat, trying to find kindred spirits or trying to escape them. James finds himself a window seat, with no one beside him.

The bus trip will only be the first leg of his journey. They explained to him – to all the kids after they boarded the bus – that they would first be taken to a central transportation center, where kids from dozen of state homes would be sorted onto buses that would take them to wherever they were going. James' next bus would be a bus full of Samsons. Wonderful. He had already considered the possibility of sneaking onto another bus, but the bar codes on their waistbands make that impossibility. It's all perfectly organized, and fullproof. Still, James occupies his mind with all the scenarios that could lead to escape. That's when he sees the commotion out of his window. It's farther up the road. Squad cars are on the other side of the freeway, and as the bus changes lanes, he sees two figures in the road: two kids racing across the traffic. One kid, the blonde one, has the other in a chokehold and is practically dragging him. And both of them are running right in front of the bus.

James' head is slammed against the window as the bus suddenly pulls to the right to avoid the two kids. The bus fills with gasps and screams and James is thrown forward, down the aisle, as the bus comes to a sudden, jarring stop. His hip is hurt, but not bad. It's just a bruise. He gets up, quickly taking stock of the situation. The bus leans sideways. It's off the road, in a ditch. The windshield is smashed and cover with blood. Lots of it. Kids around him all check themselves. Like him, no one is badly hurt, although some are making more of a fuss than others. The chaperon tries to calm down one girl who's hysterical. And in the chaos, James has a sudden realization.

This is not part of the plan.

The system might have a million contingencies for state wards trying to screw with thins, but they don't have a plan of action for dealing with an accident. For the next few seconds, all bets are off. James fixes hazel eyes on the front door of the bus, holds his breath, and races towards that door.

* * *

The party is big, the party is expensive, the party has been planned for years.

There are at least two hundred people in the country club's grand ballroom. Logan got to pick the band, he got to choose the food – he even for to select the color of the linens: red and white – for the Cincinnati Reds – and his name, Hortense Logan Mitchel, is stamped in gold on the silk napkins for people to take home as a remembrance. The party is all for him. It's all _about_ him. And he's determined to have the best time of his life. The adults at the party are relative, friends of the family, his parents' business associate – but at least eighty of the guests are Logan's friends. There are kids from school, from church and from the various sports teams he's been on. Some of his friends had felt funny about coming of course.

"I don't know, Logan," they had said, "it's kind of weird. I mean, what kind of present am I supposed to bring?"

"You don't have to bring anything," Logan had told them. "There _are _no presents at a tithing party. Just come and have a good time. I know _I _will."

And he does.

He asks every girl he invited to dance, and not a single one turns him down. He even has people lift him up in a chair and dance with him around the room, because he had seen them do that at a Jewish friend's bar mitzvah. True, this is a very different kind of party, but it's also a celebration of him turning thirteen, so he deserves to get lifted up in a chair too, doesn't he?

Logan finds that the dinner is served far too soon. He looks at his watch to see that two hours have already gone by. How could it have gone so quickly? Soon people grab the microphone and, holding up glasses of champagne, they start making toasts to Logan. His parents give a toast. His grandmother gives a toast. An uncle he doesn't even know gives a toast.

"To Logan: It's been a joy to watch you grow up into the fine young man you are, and I know in my heart that you'll do great things for everyone you touch in this world."

It feels wonderful and weird for so many people to say so many kind things about him. It's all too much, but in some strange way, it's not enough. There's got to be more. More food. More dancing. More time. They're already bringing out the birthday cake. Everyone knows the party ends once the cake is served. Why are they bringing out the cake? Can it really be three hours into the party? Then comes one more toast. It's the toast that almost ruins the evening.

Of Logan's many brothers and sisters, Marcus has been the quietest all evening. It's unlike him. Logan should have known something was going to happen. Logan, at thirteen, is the youngest of ten. Marcus, at twenty-eight, it the oldest. He flew halfway across the country to be here at Logan's tithing party, and yet he's barely danced, or spoken or been a part of any of the festivities. He's also drunk. Logan has never seen Marcus drunk.

It happens after the formal toasts are given, when Logan's cake is being cut and distributed. It doesn't start as a toast; it starts as just a moment between brothers.

"Congrats, little bro," Marcus says, giving him a powerful hug. Logan can smell the alcohol on Marcus' breath. "Today you're a man, sort of."

Their father, sitting at the head of the table just a few feet away lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Thanks…sort of." Logan responds, a dimpled smile on his pale face. He glances at his parents. His father waits to see what's coming next. His mother's pinched expression makes Logan drop his smile. He feels tense.

Marcus stares at Logan with a smile that doesn't hold any of the emotion a smile usually comes with. "What do you think of all this?" he asks Logan.

"It's great."

"Of course it is! All these people here for you? It's an amazing night. Amazing!"

"Yeah," says Logan. He's not sure what's going on but he knows it's going somewhere. "I'm having the time of my life."

"Damn right! The time of your life! Gotta wrap up all those life events, all those parties, into one – birthdays, wedding, funeral." Then he turns to their father. "Very efficient, right , Dad?"

"That's enough," their father says quietly, but that only makes Marcus get louder.

"What? I'm not allowed to talk about it? Oh, that's rights – this is a celebration I almost forgot."

Logan wants Marcus to stop, but at the same time, he doesn't.

Mrs. Mitchel stands up and says in a voice more forceful than her husband's, "Marcus, sit down. You're embarrassing yourself."

By now, everyone in the banquet hall has stopped whatever they were doing and are turned in to the unfolding family drama. Marcus, seeing he has the room's attention, picks up someone's half-empty glass of champagne, and holds it high. "Here's to my brother, Logan," Marcus says. "and to our parents! Who have always done the right thing. The _appropriate _thing. Who have always given generously to charity. Who have always given 10 percent of everything to our church. Hey, Mom – we're lucky you have ten kids instead of five, otherwise we'd end up having to cut Logan off at the waist!"

Gasps from all those assembled. People shaking their heads. Such disappointing behavior from an eldest son. Now Mr. Mitchel comes up and grabs Marcus' arm tightly.

"You're done!" He says through gritted teeth. "Sit. Down."

Marcus shakes off his dad. "Oh, I'll do better than sit down." Now there are tears in Marcus's eyes as he turns to Logan. "I love you, bro…and I know this is your special day. But I can't be part of this." He hurls the champagne glass against the wall, where it shatters, spraying fragments of crystal all over the buffet table. Them he turns and storms out with such steady confidence in his stride that Logan realizes he's not drunk at all.

Logan's father signals the band and they kick into a dance number even before Marcus is gone from the huge room. People begin to fill the void of the dance floor, doing their best to make the awkward moment go away.

"I'm sorry about that, Logan." Mr. Mitchel tells him. "Why don't you…why don't you go dance?"

But Logan finds he doesn't want to dance anymore. The desire he had to be the center of attention left along with his bother. "I'd like to talk to Pastor Reginald, if that's alright."

"Of course it is."

Pastor Reginald has been a family friends since before Logan was born, and he has always been much easier to talk to than his parents about any subject that required patience and wisdom.

The banquet ball is too loud, too crowded, so they go outside to the patio overlooking the country club's golf course.

"Are you getting scared?" Pastor Reginald asks. He's always able to figure out that's on Logan's mind.

Logan nods. "I thought I was ready. I thought I was prepared."

"It's natural. Don't worry about it."

But it doesn't ease the disappointment Logan feels in himself. He's had his entire life to prepare for this – it should have been enough. He knew he was a tithe from the time he was little. "You're special," his parents had always told him. "Your life will be to serve God, and mankind." He doesn't remember how old he was when he found out exactly what that meant for him.

"Have kids in school been giving you a hard time?"

"No more than usual," Logan tells him, chocolate eye staring straight ahead at the setting sun. It's true. All his life he's had to deal with kids who resented him, because grown-ups treated him as if he was special. There were kids who were kind, and kids who were cruel. That was life. It did bother him, though, when kids called him things like 'dirty Unwind.' As if he was like those _other_ kids, whose parents signed the unwind order to get rid of them. That couldn't be further from the truth for Logan. He is his family's pride and joy. Straight As in school, MVP in little league. Just because he's to be unwound does NOT mean he's an Unwind. There are, of course, a few other tithes at his school, but they're all from other religions, so Logan has never felt a real sense of camaraderie with them. The huge turnout at tonight's party testifies to how many friends Logan has – but they're not _like _him: Their lives will be lived in an undivided state. Their bodies and their futures are their own. Logan has always felt closer to God than to his friends, or even his family. He often wonders if being chosen always leaves a person so isolate. Or is there something wrong with him?

"I've been having lots of wrong thoughts," Logan confesses to Pastor Reginald, turning to face the pudgy man, looking him in the eye.

"There are no wrong thoughts, only thoughts that need to be worked through and overcome."

"Well…I've just been feeling jealous of my brothers and sisters. I keep thinking how the baseball team is going to miss me. I know it's an honor and a blessing to be a tithe, but I can't stop wondering why it has to be me."

Pastor Reginald, who was always so good at looking people in the eye, now looks away. "It was decided before you were born. It's not anything you did, or didn't do."

"The thing is, I know tons of people with big families…"

Pastor Reginald nodded. "Yes, it's very common these days."

"But lots of those people don't tithe at all. Even families in our church, and nobody blames them."

"There are also people who tither their first, second, or third child. Every family must take the decision for itself. Your parents waited a long time before making the decision to have you."

Logan reluctantly nods, knowing it's true. He was a 'true tithe.' With five natural siblings, plus one adopted and three that arrived 'by stork,' Logan was exactly one-tenth. His parents had always told him that made him all the more special.

"I'll tell you something, Logan," Pastor Reginald says, finally meeting his eyes. Like Marcus, his eyes are moist, just one step short of tears. "I've watched all your brother and sisters grow and, although I don't like playing favorites, I think you are the finest of all of them in so many ways, I wouldn't even know where to start. That's what God asks for, you know. Not first fruits but best fruits."

"Thank you, sir." Pastor Reginald always knows what to say to make Logan feel better. "I'm ready for this," and saying it makes him realize that, in spite of his fears and misgivings, he truly is ready. This is everything he has lived for. Even so, his tithing party ends much too soon.

…

In the morning the Mitchels have to eat breakfast in the dining room, with all the leaves in the table. All of Logan's brothers and sisters are there. Only a few of them still live at him, but today they've all come over for breakfast. All of them, that is, except for Marcus. Yet, for such a large family it's unusually quiet, and the clatter of silverware on china makes the lack of conversation even more conspicuous. Logan, dressed in silk tithing white, eats carefully, so as not to leave any stains on his clothes. After breakfast, the good-byes are long, full of hugs and kisses. It's the worst part. Logan wishes they would all just let him go and get the good-byes over with. Pastor Reginald arrives – he's come at Logan's request – and once he's there, the good-byes move more quickly. Nobody wants to waste the pastor's valuable time. Logan is the first one out in his father's Cadillac, and although he tries not to look back as Mr. Mitchel starts the car and drives away, he can't help it. He watches as his home disappears behind them. _I will never see that home again_, he thinks, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. It's unproductive, unhelpful, selfish. He looks at Pastor Reginald, who sits beside him in the backseat watching him, and the pastor smiles.

"It's alright, Logan," he says. Just hearing him say it makes it so.

"How far is the harvest camp?" Logan asks to whoever cares to answer.

"It's about an hour from here," his mom says.

"And…will they do it right away?"

His parents look to each other. I'm sure there'll be an orientation," says his father.

The short answer makes it clear to Logan that they don't know any more than he does. As they pull onto the interstate, Logan rolls down the window to feel the wind on his face and closes his eyes to prepare himself. _This is what I was born for. It's what I've lived my life for. I am chosen. I am blessed. And I am happy. _

Suddenly Mr. Mitchel slams on the brakes. With his eyes closed, Logan doesn't see the reason for their unexpected stop. He just feels the sharp deceleration of the Cadillac and the pull of the seat belt on his shoulder. He opens his eyes to see they have stopped on the interstate. Police lights flash and – was that a gunshot he just heard?

"What's going on?"

Then, just outside his window is another kid with blonde hair and looks to be a few years older than him. He looks scared. He looks dangerous. Logan reaches over to quickly put up his window, but before he can this kid reaches in, pulls up the lock on the door, and tugs the door open. Logan is frozen. He doesn't know what to do.

"Mom? Dad?" he calls.

The boy with murder in his crazy green eyes tugs on Logan's white silk shirt, trying to pull him out of the car, but the seat belt holds him tight.

"What are you doing? Leave me alone!"

Logan's mom screams for her husband to do something, but he's fumbling with his own seat belt. The maniac reaches over and in one swift motion unclips Logan's seat belt. Pastor Reginald grabs at the intruder, who responds with a quick powerful punch – a jab right at Pastor Reginald's chubby jaw. The shock of seeing such violence distracts Logan at a crucial moment. The maniac tugs him once again, and this time Logan falls out of the car, hitting his head on the pavement. When he looks up he sees his father finally getting out of the car, but the crazy blonde kid swings the car door against him, sending him flying.

"Dad!" His father lands in the path of an oncoming car. The car swerves and, thank God, it misses him – but it cuts off another car, hitting it, that car spins out of control and the sound of crashes fills the air. Logan is pulled to his feet again by the blonde, who grabs Logan's arm and drags him off. Logan is small for his age. This kid is a couple years older, and much bigger. Logan can't break free.

"Stop!" The pale brunette yells. "You can have whatever you want. Take my wallet," he says even though he has no wallet. "Take the car. Just don't hurt anyone."

The kid considers the car, but only for an instant. Bullets now fly past them On the southbound roadway are policemen who have finally stopped traffic on their side of the interstate, and have made it to the median dividing the north and southbound lanes. The closest officer fires again. A tranq bullet hits the Cadillac and splatters. The crazy kid now puts Logan into a choke hold, holding Logan between himself and the officers. Logan realizes that he doesn't want a car, or money: He wants a hostage.

"Stop struggling – I've got a gun!" And Logan feels the kid poke him in the side. Logan knows it's not a gun, he knows it's just the kid's fingers, but this is clearly an unstable individual and he doesn't want to set him off.

"I'm worthless as a human shield," Logan tries to reason with him. "Those are tranq bullets they're shooting which means the cops don't care if they hit me. They'll just knock me out."

"Better you than me."

Bullets fly past them as they wind around swerving traffic. "Please, you don't understand! You can't take me now, I'm being tithed. I'll miss my harvest! You'll ruin everything!"

And finally, a hint of humanity comes to those bottled green eyes. "_You're an Unwind?" _

There are a million more things to be furious about, but Logan finds himself incensed by what he's just been called. "I'm a _tithe_!"

A blaring horn, and Logan turns to see a bus bearing down on them. Before either of them has a chance to scream, the bus careens off the road to avoid them, and smashes head-on against the fat trunk of a huge oak, stopping the bus cold. There's blood all over the smashed windshield. It's the bus driver's blood. He hangs halfway through, and he's not moving.

"Oh shit!" Says they maniac, a creepy whine in his voice.

A brunette boy has just stepped out of the bus. The crazy kid looks at him and Logan realizes now, while he's distracted, is the last chance he's going to have to get away. This kid is an animal. The only way to deal with him is for Logan to become an animal himself. So Logan grabs the arm that's locked around his neck and sinks his teeth in with the full force of his jaw until he taste blood. The kid screams, letting go and Logan bolts away, racing towards his father's car. As he nears it, a black door opens. It's Pastor Reginald opening the door to receive him, yet the expression on the man's face is anything but happy.

With his face already swelling from the crazy kid's brutal punch, Pastor Reginald says with a hiss and strange warble to his voice, "Run, Logan!"

Logan was not expecting this. "What?"

"Run! Run as fast as you can and as far as you can. RUN!"

Logan stands there, impotent, unable to move, unable to process this. Why is Pastor Reginald telling him to run? Then comes a sudden pain in his shoulder, and everything starts spinning round and round and down a drain into darkness.

…

The pain in Kendall's arm is unbearable. That little monster actually bit him – practically took a chunk out of his forearm. Another car slams the brakes to avoid hitting him, and gets rear-ended. The tranq bullets have stopped flying, but he knows that's temporary. The accidents have gotten the Juvey-cops momentarily distracted, but they won't stay that way for long. Just then, he makes eye contact with the brunette boy who got off the bus. He thinks he's going to go stumbling toward all the people who are running from their cars to help, but instead he turns and runs into the woods. Has the whole world gone insane? Still holding his stinging, bleeding arm, Kendall turns to run into the woods as well, but stops. The blonde turns back to see the kid in white just reaching his car. Kendall doesn't know where the Juvey-cops are. They're lurking, no doubt, somewhere in the tangle of vehicles. That's when Kendall makes a split-second decision. He knows it's a stupid decision, but he can't help himself. All he knows it that he's caused death today. The bus driver's, maybe even more. Even if it risks everything, he's got to balance it somehow. He's got to do something decent, something good to make up for the awful consequences of his kicking-AWOL. And so, battling his own instinct for self-preservation, he races toward the kid in white who was so happily going to his own unwinding. It's as Kendall gets close that he sees the cop twenty yards away, raising his weapon and firing. He shouldn't have risked this! He should have gotten away when he could. Kendall waits for the telltale sting of the tranq bullet but it never comes, because the moment the bullet is fired, the boy in white steps back and he's hit in the shoulder. Two seconds, and his knees buckle. The kid hits the ground, out cold, unwittingly taking the bullet meant for Kendall.

Kendall wastes no time. He picks the kid up off the ground and flips him over his shoulder. Tranq bullets fly, but no other connect. In a few seconds, Kendall's past the bus, where a gaggle of shell-shocked teens are getting off. He pushes past them and into the woods. The woods are dense, not just with trees but with tall shrubs and vines, yet there's already a path of broken branches and parted shrubs made by the boy who ran from the bus. They might as well have arrows pointing the police in their direction. He sees the boy up ahead and call out to him. "Stop!" The tan male turns, only for an instant, then renews his battle with the dense growth all around him.

Kendall gently puts down the boy in white and hurries forward, catching up with the brunette boy. He grabs his arm gently, yet firmly enough so that he can't pull away. "Whatever you're running from, you won't get away unless we work together," he tells the brunette beauty. Kendall glances behind him to make sure that no Juvey-cops are in sight yet. They aren't. He looks back into the slightly shorter boy's eyes. "Please – we don't have much time."

The tan male stops fighting the bushes and looks at him. "What do you have in mind?" And Kendall smiles a wicked grin.

* * *

Officer J. T. Nelson has spent twelve years working Juvenile. He knows AWOL Unwinds will not give up as long as there's an ounce of consciousness left in them. They are high on adrenaline, and often high on illegal substances as well. Nicotine, caffeine, or worse. He wishes his bullets were the real thing. He wishes he could truly take these wastes-of-life out rather than just taking them down. Maybe then they wouldn't be so quick to run – and if they did, well, no great loss.

The officer follows the path made through the woods by the AWOL Unwind, until he comes to a lump on the ground. It's the hostage, just dumped in the path, his white clothes smudged green from the foliage, and brown from the muddy earth. _Good_, thinks the officer. It was a good thing this boy took that bullet after all. Being unconscious probably saves the kid's life. No telling where the Unwind would have taken him, or what he'd have done to him.

"Help me!" Says a voice just ahead of him. The voice sounds deep, but also high pitched. Almost like the voice of a young boy going through puberty. The officer places a hand on his tranq gun, not sure if this is the AWOL Unwind or not.

"Help me, please, I'm hurt!"

Deeper in the woods a brunette boy sits up against a tree, holding his arm, grimacing in pain. The officer relaxes as seeing this is not the AWOL Unwind. He drops his hand from his tranquilizer gun, looking at the boy before him confused. He doesn't have time for this, but 'Protect and Serve' is more than just a motto to him. He sometimes wishes he didn't have such moral integrity.

He goes over to the boy. "What are you doing here?"

"I-I was on the bus. I got off and ran away because I-I was scared it would explode. I think m-my arm is broken."

He looks from the boy's innocent hazel eyes to his arm. It's not even bruised. This should be his first clue, but his mind is already too far ahead of him to catch on. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He turns, ready to pick up his pursuit, when something drops on him from above. Not something, some_one_. The AWOL Unwind! The officer is knocked to the ground, and suddenly there are two figures attacking him – the Unwind and the brunette boy. They're in this together. How could he have been so stupid? He reaches for his tranq pistol, but it's not there. Instead he feels its muzzle against his left thigh, and he sees triumph in the Unwinds dark green, vicious eyes.

"Nighty-night," the Unwind mocks.

A sharp pain in the officer's leg, and the world does away.

* * *

**So there's the first chapter for you all. It took me two days to write this out. James' character is originally a girl so I had to take my time writing out his scene so I didn't write her for him. Also, I know I promised a new chapter for TBO but I'm having major and I mean MAJOR writers block for this next chapter. I have everything planned out and what I want to happen in that chapter, but I can't seem to put it into words or in a get order. I have at least ten different drafts for that chapter. I'm sorry for everyone who is wanting me to update that story, I'm trying. I promise as soon as I figure everything out I'll update. Until then, tell me what you think of this story. If you want me to continue review and tell me your thoughts. **

**~Kaylah : )**

**P.S. if any of you have any ideas for the next chapter of TBO please PM and let me know. Or if you would just like to help me out with this next chapter. It'll be really beneficial and make me happy! : )**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story and add it to their favorite and follow list. Special shout outs to:**

_**No-Emotions-To-Cry: Thanks for reviewing! Yes, the first chapter was VERY intense. I'm glad you were so interested and I hope you continue to read.**_

_**Gottaluvfanfic01: Oh gosh! Thank you for that compliment! It made my day soo much better. And lol, Kendall is 16 and the oldest of all of them. Carlos will make his appearance very soon and some of you will be very shocked at his personality. But I hope you continue to read and love this story. Thank you for reviewing. **_

_**EagleAce11: Thank you for being the first person to review. I hope that when I explained the basic story plotline it made sense, if not just continue to read and I'll hopefully answer your questions. **_

**Well thank you all for finding interest in this story. Here's chapter two!**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Logan wakes up to a dull ache in his shoulder. He thinks maybe he slept funny, but quickly realizes the ache is from an injury. His left shoulder was the entry point of a tranq bullet, though he doesn't realize that just yet. All the things that had happened to him twelve hours before are like faint clouds in his mind that have lost their shape. All he knows for sure is that he was on his way to his tithing, he was kidnapped by a murderous teenager, and for some strange reason the image of Pastor Reginald keeps coming back to him. Pastor Reginald was telling him to run. He's sure that it must be a false memory, because he can't believe Pastor Reginald would do such a thing.

Everything is blurry as Logan opens his eyes. He doesn't know where he is, only that it's night and he's not where he should be. The insane teen who took him sits across a small fire. There's another boy there, too. Then he realizes he'd been hit by a tranq bullet. His head hurts, he feels like he might puke, and his brain is still only half power. He tries to get up, but can't. As first he thinks that's also because of the tranquilizers, but then he realizes he's tied to a tree by thick vines. He tries to speak, but his voice comes out as a little groan and a lot of droll. Both of the boys look at him, and he's sure they're going to kill him now. They kept him alive just so he'd be awake when they killed him. Maniacs are like that.

"Look who's back from Tranqville," says the blonde boy with wild eyes. Only his eyes aren't wild now, just a calm bottle green. His hair is wild – it's all sticking up like he slept on it.

Although Logan's tongue feels like rubber, he manages to get a single word. "Where…"

"Not sure," says the blonde.

"But at least you're safe," says the other boy and Logan gets a good look at him. He's quite beautiful for a boy at least. His tan skin glowing in the small light of the fire, hazel eyes glistening. Logan is kind of memorized by his beauty until he realizes what he had said.

_Safe? _Logan thinks. _What could possibly be safe about this?_

"H…h…hostage?" Logan gets out.

The blonde looks to the brunette, then back at Logan. "Kind of. I guess." These two talk in an easy tone of voice, like they're all friends. _They're trying to lull me into a false sense of security. They're trying to get me on their side, so I'll take part in whatever criminal activities they have planned._ There's an expression for that, isn't there? When a hostage joins the kidnappers' cause? The _Something _syndrome.

The crazy kid looks to a pile of berries and nuts obviously from the woods. "You hungry?"

Logan nods, but the act of nodding makes his head spin so much, he realizes that no matter how hungry he is, he's better not eat because it'll come right back up. "No," he says.

"You sound confused," the pretty boy says. "Don't worry, it's just the tranqs. They'll wear off pretty soon."

_Stockholm syndrome! _That's it! Well, Logan won't be won over by this pair of kidnappers. He'll never be on their side.

_Pastor Reginald told me to run._

What had he meant? Did he mean run from the kidnappers? Maybe, but he seemed to be saying something else entirely. Logan closes his eyes and chases the thought away.

"My parent will look for me," Logan says after a few moments, his mouth finally able to put together whole sentences.

The older boys don't answer because they probably know it's true.

"How much is the ransom?" Logan asks, looking between the two males around the fire. The blonde teen furrows his bushy eyebrows together before arching one.

"Ransom? There's no ransom. I took you to save you, idiot!" The crazy kid exclaims.

To save him? Logan just stares at him in disbelief. "But…but my tithing…"

The crazy kid looks at him and shakes his head. "I've never seen a kid in such a hurry to be unwound."

It's no use trying to explain to this godless pair what tithing is all about. How giving of one's self is the ultimate blessing. They'd never understand or car. Save him? They haven't saved him, they've damned him.

Then Logan realizes something. He realizes that he can use this entire situation to his advantage. "My name is Hortense, but I prefer to be called Logan," he says, trying to play it as cool as he can.

"Pleased to meet you, Logan," says the pretty boy, giving Logan a dashing smile. "I'm James, and this is Kendall."

Kendall throws the hazel eyed boy a dirty look, making it clear that he just gave their real names. Not a good idea for hostage-takers, but then most criminals are stupid like that.

"Didn't mean for you to take the tranq bullet," Kendall tells him. "But the cop was a bad shot."

"Not your fault," Logan says, even though every bit of it is Kendall's fault. Logan thinks about what happened, and says, "I would never have run from my own tithing." That much is true.

"Good thing I was around, then," Kendall says, a smug smile ghosting over his face, showing his dimples.

"Yeah, if it wasn't for Kendall running across that highway, I'd probably be unwound by now too." James says, even though he rolled his eyes at the blonde next to him.

There's a moment of silence, then Logan, biting back his anger and revulsion, says, "Thank you. Thank you for saving me."

Despite his shock state, Kendall somehow finds his voice. "Don't mention it." He mumbles, green eyes staring at the young brunette before him with a bit of uncertainty.

Good. Let them think he's grateful. Let them think they're earning his trust, and once they're lulled into their own false sense of security, he'll make sure they both get exactly what they deserve.

* * *

Kendall should have kept the Juvey-cop's gun, but he wasn't thinking. He was so freaked out at having tranq'd a cop with his own weapon, he just dropped it and ran – just as he dropped his backpack on the interstate so he could carry Logan. His wallet and all his money was in that pack. Now he has nothing but pocket lint.

It was late no – or, more accurately, early – almost dawn. He and James had kept moving through the woods all day, as best they could with Kendall having to carry an unconscious tithe. Once night fell, he and James had taken turns keeping watch while the other slept. Kendall knows that Logan can't be trusted, that's why he tied him to the tree – but there's no reason to trust the brunette boy who had come running out of the bus either. It's only their common goal of staying alive that binds them.

The moon has left the sky now, but there's a faint glow promising a quick arrival of dawn. By now their faces would be everywhere. _Have you seen these teens? Do not approach. Considered extremely dangerous. Call the police immediately. _Funny how Kendall had wasted so much time in school trying to convince people he was dangerous, but when it came down to it, he was never sure if he was all that dangerous at all. A danger to himself, maybe.

All the while, Logan watches him. At first the boy's eyes had been lazy and his head lolling to one side, but now those eyes are sharp. Even in the dimness of the dying fire Kendall can see them. Chocolate brown. Calculating. This kid is an odd bird. Kendall's not quite sure what's going on on Planet Logan, and not quite sure he wants to know.

"That bite's gonna get infected if you don't take care of it," Logan suddenly says, bringing Kendall out of his thoughts.

Kendall looks to the spot on his arm where Logan bit him, still puffy and red. He had tuned the pain out until the raven haired boy reminded him. "I'll deal with it."

Logan continues to study him. "Why are you being unwound?"

Kendall doesn't like the question for a whole lot of reasons. He narrows his slowly turning dark green eyes on the younger boy before him. "You mean why WAS I being unwound? Because, as you can clearly see, I'm not being unwound anymore."

"They will if they catch you."

Kendall glares at the boy, a feeling to punch that smug look off his pale face, but he restrains himself. He didn't rescue the kid just to beat him up, even though he would find some joy in that. Instead he tries to change the subject off him.

"So, what's it like," the blonde starts, toying at the dying fire with a stick, "knowing all your life you're going to be sacrificed?" He looks up at Logan smirking. He meant it as a jab, but Logan takes the question seriously.

"It's better than going through life without knowing your purpose."

Kendall's not sure if that was intentionally meant to make him squirm – as if life has no purpose. It makes him fell like _he's _the one tied to the tree, not Logan. "I guess it could be worse. We could have all ended up like Humphrey Dunfee."

Logan seems surprised by the mention of the name, brown eyes widening in shock. "You know that story? I thought they only told it in my neighborhood."

"Nah," says Kendall, tossing the stick off to the side as the fire went completely dead. "Kids tell it everywhere."

"It's made up." Both Kendall and Logan jump at the unexpected new voice. It's the other brunette, the tan one. He had just woken up and was now stretching and brushing the grass and dirt from his long hair.

"Maybe," says Kendall licking his lips. "But there was this one time a friend and I tried to find out about it while surfing one of the school's computers. We hit this one website that talked about it, how his parents went all psycho. Then the computer crashed. It turns out we were hit by a virus that wiped out the entire district server. Coincidence? I think not." Kendall finishes his story with a smirk, eyes darting between the two younger boys before him.

Logan takes in the information, eyes wide while he stares straight ahead in fear. James, on the other hand, scoffs at the blonde's ridiculous folktale. "Well, _I'll _never end up like Humphrey Dunfee, because you have to have parents for them to go psycho – and I don't." He stands up, storming a few feet away from the two. Kendall looks away from the fire's fading smoke to see that dawn has arrived.

"If we're going to keep from being caught, then we should change direction again," James says coming back over to Kendall and Logan. It took Kendall a moment to realize the pretty brunette went to go relieve himself. "We should also think about disguising ourselves."

"Like how?" Kendall asks.

"I don't know. Change our clothes first. And I hate to say this, but probably cut out hair. They'll be looking for three boys. I can…maybe disguise myself as a girl." James says, cringing as he says the last part.

Kendall takes a good look at him and smiles. James is pretty, beautiful even. Not in the way Jo was pretty – in a better way. Jo's prettiness was all about makeup and pigment injections and stuff. James has a natural kind of beauty. Kendall never really questioned his sexuality. He found himself attracted to anything that was beautiful and smelt good. And there were some boys out there in the world that could put girls to shame with their natural beauty, James being one of them. Without thinking, Kendall reaches out towards James, brushing the hair out of his hazel eyes and says, "You're probably the most beautiful thing I've ever-"

Then suddenly, he finds his hand tugged behind him, his whole body spins around as James painfully wrenches his arm up the small of his back. It hurts so much that Kendall can't even say 'ouch.' All he says is, "Eh-eh-eh!"

"Touch me again and your arm gets ripped off," James whispers, his voice low and dangerously close to Kendall's ear. "Got that?"

"Yeah. Yeah! Fine. Hands off, got it."

Over on the oak tree, Logan laughs, apparently pleased to see Kendall in pain.

James lets go of Kendall, but his shoulder still throbs. "You didn't have to do that," Kendall says, rubbing his shoulder as James takes a few steps back. "It's not like I was going to hurt you or anything."

"Yeah, well, now you won't for sure," James says, maybe sounding a bit guilty for being so harsh. "Don't forget I lived in a state home."

Kendall nods. He knows about StaHo kids. They have to learn to take care of themselves real young, or their lives are not very pleasant. He should have realized that James was a touch-me-not. It wasn't like James was stronger than Kendall either, well from the looks of it. The brunette had a well-built but also slender body. He had some muscles, but it look like they were formed from doing regular things. Kendall didn't understand how someone so beautiful like James is being unwound instead of being a model.

"Excuse me," Logan's annoying nagging voice brings Kendall out of his thoughts once more, "but we can't go anywhere if I'm still tied to a tree.

Still, Kendall doesn't like that judgmental look in Logan's eyes. "How do we know you won't run?"

"You don't, but until you untie me, I'm a hostage," Logan says. "Once I'm free, I'm a fugitive, like you. Tied up, I'm the enemy. Cut loose, I'm a friend."

"If you don't run," Kendall says dryly.

James impatiently begins to untie the vines. "Unless we don't want to leave him here, we'll have to take that chance." Kendall kneels to help and in a few moments, Logan is free. He stands and stretches, rubbing his shoulder where the tranq bullet had hit him. Logan's eyes are still a dark brown and hard for Kendall to read, but he's not running.

_Maybe he's over the 'duty' of being tithed. Maybe he's finally starting to see the sense of staying alive._

* * *

James finds himself unsettled by the food wrappers and broken bits of plastic they start coming across in the woods, because the first sign of civilization is always trash. Civilization means people who could recognize them if their faces have been smeared on the newsnet. James knows that staying completely clear of human contact is impossibility. He has no illusion about their chances, or their ability to remain unseen. As much as they need to remain anonymous, they cannot get by entirely alone. They need the help of others.

"No we don't." Kendall is quick to argue as the signs of civilization grow around them. It's not just trash now, but the mossy old electrical tower from the days when electricity was transmitted by wires. "We don't need anyone. We'll take what we need."

James sighs, trying to hold together patience that has already worn through. "I'm sure you're very good at stealing, but I don't think it's a good idea."

Kendall appears insulted by the insinuation. "What, do you think people are just going to give us food and whatever else we need out of the good ness of their hearts?"

"No, but if we're clever about it instead of rushing into this blind, we'll have a better chance."

His words or maybe just his intentionally condescending tone makes Kendall storm off. James notices Logan watching the argument from a distance. _If he's going to run, now's the time to do it, while Kendall and I are busy fighting. _And then it occurs to him that this is an excellent opportunity to test Logan, and see if he really is standing by them now, or biding his time until he can escape.

"Don't you walk away from me!" He growls after Kendall, doing his best to keep the argument alive, all the while keeping an eye on Logan to see if he bolts. "I'm still talking to you!"

Kendall turns to him, "Who says I have to listen?"

"You would if you had half a brain, but obviously you don't!"

Kendall moves closer until he's deeper into his airspace that he likes anyone to get. His bottled green eyes are burning with anger as he stares down at James, the pretty boy's hazel eyes turning a red-golden from his own anger rising up. "If it wasn't for me you'd be on your way to the harvest camp!" James raises a hand to push him back, but Kendall's hand shoots up faster and he grabs his wrist before he can shove him. This is the moment that James realizes he's gone too far. What does he really know about the blonde boy? He was going to be unwound. Maybe there's a reason for it. Maybe a good reason.

James is careful not to struggle because struggling gives Kendall the advantages. He lets his tone of voice convey all the weight. "Let go of me."

"Why? Exactly what do you think I'll do to you?" Kendall takes a step closer, their foreheads almost touching. He licks his lips, his eyes shifting from James' eyes to his lips, then back.

"This is the second time you've touched me without permission." James says, eyes not leaving Kendall's for a second. Still, Kendall does not let go – yet he does notice the blonde's grip isn't all that threatening. It isn't tight, it's loose. It isn't rough, it's gentle. James could easily pull out of it with a simple flick of his wrist. So why doesn't he?

James knows he's doing this to make a point, but what the point is, James isn't sure. Is he warning him that he can hurt him if he wants to? Or maybe the green eyed boy's message is in the gentle nature of his grip – a way of saying he's not the hurting type. _Well it doesn't matter,_ thinks James. Even a gentle violation is a violation. The brunette looks at the other's knee. A well-placed kick could break his kneecap.

"I could take you out in a second," James threatens, long eyelashes batting at his rosy cheeks.

If Kendall is concerned, he doesn't show it. "I know."

Somehow Kendall also knows that James won't do it – that the first time was just a reflex. If he were to hurt Kendall a second time, though, it would be a conscious act. It would be by choice.

"Step off," the pretty boy says. His voice now lacks the force it had only moments before.

This time Kendall listens and lets go, moving back to a respectable distance, a slight hue covering both of their faces. They both could have hurt one another, but neither of them did. James isn't quite sure what that means, all he knows is that he feels angry at the older boy for such a mixture of reasons, he can't sort them out.

Then suddenly a voice calls to them from the right. "This is very entertaining and all, but I don't think fighting is going to help much."

It's Logan – and James realizes that his little ruse has back-fired. He had set out to test him with a fake argument but the argument turned real, and in the process she completely forgot about Logan. He could have taken off, and they would not have known until he was long gone. James throws Kendall an evil look for good measure and the three of them continue on. It isn't until ten minutes later when Logan goes off to relieve himself in private, that Kendall talks to James again.

"Good one. It worked."

"What?"

Kendall leans closer and whispers, "The argument. You put it on to see if Logan would run when we weren't paying attention, right?"

James is bowled over. "You knew that?"

Kendall looks at him, a bit amused. "Well…yeah."

If James felt uncertain about him before, it's even worse now. He has no idea what to think. "So…everything that happened back there was all a…show?"

Now it's Kendall's turn to be unsure. "I guess. Sort of. Wasn't it?"

James has to hold back a smile. Suddenly he's feeling strangely at ease with Kendall. He marvels at how that could be. If their argument had been entirely real, he'd be on his guard against him. If it had been entirely a show he's be on guard too, because if he could lie so convincingly, James would never be able to trusts him. But this was a mixture of both. It was real, it was pretend, and that combination made it all right – it made it safe, like preforming death-defying acrobatic tricks above a safety net. He holds on to that unexpected feeling as the two of them catch up with Logan, and move toward the frightening prospect of civilization.

* * *

The mother…father…birth giver is nineteen, but he doesn't feel that old. He feels no wiser, no more capable of dealing with this situation, than a little boy. When, he wonders, did he stop being a child? The law says when he turned eighteen, but the law doesn't know him.

Still aching from the trauma of delivery, he holds his newborn close. It's just after dawn on a chilly morning. He moves through back alleys. Not a soul around. Dumpsters cast angular black shadows. Broken bottles everywhere. This he knows is the perfect time of the day to do this. There's less of a chance that coyotes and other scavengers would be out. He couldn't bear the thought of the baby suffering needlessly. A large green Dumpster looms before him, listing crookedly on the uneven pavement of the alley. He holds the baby tight, as if the Dumpster might grow hands and pull the baby into its filthy depths. Maneuvering around it, he continues down the alley. There was a time, shortly after the Bill of Life was passed, that Dumpsters such as that would be tempting to girls and boys like him. Desperate newly parents who would leave unwanted newborns in the trash. It had become so common that it wasn't even deemed news worthy anymore – it had become just a part of life. Funny, but the Bill of Life was supposed to protect the sanctity of life. Instead it just made life cheap. Thank goodness for the Stroking Initiative, that wonderful law that allows fathers and mothers like him a far better alternative.

As dawn becomes early morning, he leaves the alleys and enters a neighborhood that gets better with each street he crosses. The homes are large and inviting. This is the right neighborhood for storking. He chooses the home shrewdly. The house he decides on isn't the largest, but it's not the smallest, either. It has a very short walkway to the street, so he can get away quickly, and it's overgrown with trees, so no one either inside or out will be able to see him as he storks the newborn.

He carefully approaches the front door. No lights are on in the home yet, that's good. There's a car in the driveway – hopefully that means they're home. He gingerly climbs the porch steps, careful not to make a sound, then kneels down, placing the sleeping baby on the welcome mat. There are two blankets wrapped around the baby and a wool cap covers its head. He makes the blankets nice and tight. It's the only thing he's learned to do as a father. He considers ringing the bell and running, but he realizes that would not be a good idea. If the catch him, he's obliged to keep the baby – that's part of the Storking Initiative too – but if they open the door finding nothing but the child, it's 'finder's keepers' in the eye of the law. Whether they want it or not, the baby is legally theirs.

From the time he learned he was pregnant he knew he would end up storking this baby. He had hoped that when he finally saw it, looking up at him so helplessly, he might change his mind – but who was he kidding? With neither the skill nor the desire to be a father at this point in his life, storking had always been his best option. He realizes he's lingered longer than is wise. There's an upstairs light on now, so he forces himself to look away from the sleeping newborn and leaves. With the burden now lifted from him, he has sudden strength. He now has a second chance on life, and this time he'll be smarter – he's sure of it.

As he hurries down the street, he thinks how wonderful it is that he can get a second chance. How wonderful it is that he can dismiss his responsibility so easily.

_**~~Page Break~~**_

Several streets away from the storked newborn, at the edge of a dense wood, James stands at the door of a home. He straightens out his hair before ringing the bell, and a woman answers in her bathrobe.

James offers a woman his thousand watt smile. "Hi my name is Lucas? And I'm like collecting clothes and food and stuff for our school? We're, like, giving them to the homeless? And it's like this competition – whoever gets the most wins a trip to…California. Or maybe it was Florida? Oh! No it was Hawaii! Anyways, it would be really, really great if you could, like, help out?"

The sleepy woman tries to get her brain up to speed with 'Lucas,' airhead for the homeless. The woman can't get a word in edgewise because Lucas talks way too fast. If James had had a piece of chewing gum, he would have popped a bubble somewhere in there to add more authenticity.

"Please-please-pretty-please! I'm, like, in second place?"

The woman at the door sighs, resigned to the fact that 'Lucas' isn't going away empty-handed, and sometimes the best way to get rid of boys like this is just to give them something. "I'll be right back," the woman says and James flashes her another smile that she rolls her eyes at.

Three minutes later, James walks away from the house with a bag full of clothes and canned food.

"That was amazing!" exclaims Kendall, who had been watching with Logan from the edge of the woods.

"What can I say? I'm an artist," James shrugs his shoulder, a smirk on his tan face. "It's like playing the piano; you just have to know which keys to strike in people."

Kendall smiles at him, James blushing from the boy's dimple. "You're right, this is way better than stealing." Kendall says.

"Actually, this IS stealing." Logan says, making the two older boys drop their smiles.

James feels a bit prickly and uncomfortable at the thought, but tries to not show it.

"Maybe so," says Kendall, "but it's stealing with style."

The woods have ended at a tract community. Manicured lawns have turned yellow along with the leaves. Autumn has truly taken hold. The homes here are almost identical, but not quite, full of people almost identical, but not quite. It's a world James knows about only through magazines and TV. To him, suburbia is a magical kingdom. Perhaps that's why James was the one who had the nerve to approach the house and pretend to be Lucas. The neighborhood drew him like the smell of fresh bread backing in the industrial ovens of Minnesota State Home 23.

Back in the woods where they can't be seen from anyone's window, they check their goody bag, as if it's full of Halloween candy. There's a pair of pants and a blue button-down shirt that fits Kendall. There's a jacket and shorts that fit Logan. There are no clothes for James, but that's okay. He can play Lucas again at a different house.

"I still don't know how changing our clothes is going to make a difference." Kendall grumbles as he sheds his flannel off his shoulders.

James blushes as he stares at Kendall's toned body. Sure he's wearing a grey wifebeater, but James can still make out the blonde's hard abs under the tank. James shakes his head, turning to look past Kendall's body. The blonde notices his stare, however, and smirks at his starts pulling on his dress shirt, making sure to flex his muscles. "Don't you ever watch TV?" James says, despite his flustered state. "On the cap shoes they always describe what perps were last wearing when they put out an APB."

"We not perps, we're AWOLs," says Kendall running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"We're felons," says Logan, zipping up the zipper to his shorts. "Because what you're doing – I-I mean what _we're_ doing is a federal crime."

"What, stealing clothes?" Kendall asks with a wrinkle to his nose.

"No, stealing ourselves. Once the unwind orders were signed, we all became government property. Kicking-AWOL makes us federal criminals."

It doesn't sit well with James, or for that matter with Kendall, but they both shake it off.

This excursion into a populated area is dangerous but necessary. Perhaps as the morning goes on the can find a library large enough to get lost in for good. There are rumors of hidden communities of AWOL Unwinds. Maybe they can find one. As they move cautiously through the neighborhood, a man approaches them – just a boy, really, maybe nineteen or twenty. He walks fast, but he's walking funny, like he's got some injury or is recovering from one. James's certain he's going to see them and recognize them, but the boy passes without even making eye contact and hurries around the corner.

_**~~Page Break~~**_

Exposed. Vulnerable. Kendall wishes they could have stayed in the woods, but there are only so many acorns and berries he can eat. They'll find food in town. Food, and information.

"This is the best time not to be noticed," Kendall tells the others. "Everyone's in a hurry in the morning. Late to work, or whatever." Kendall finds a newspaper in the bushes, misthrown by a delivery boy. "Look at this!" shout Kendall. "A newspaper. How retro is that?"

"Does it talk about us?" asks Logan. He says it like it's a good thing. The three of them scan the front page. The war in Australia, lying politicians – the same old stuff. Kendall turns the page clumsily. It's pages are large and awkward. They tear easily and catch the breeze like a kite, making it hard to read. No mention of them on page two, or page three.

"Maybe it's an old newspaper," suggests James.

Kendall checks the date on top. "No, it's today's." He fights against the breeze to turn the page. "Ah – there it is."

The headline reads, PILEUP ON INTERSTATE. It's a very small article. A morning car accident, _blah-blah-blah_, traffic snarled for hours, _blah-blah-blah_. The article mentions the dead bus driver, the fact that the road was closed for three hours. But nothing about them. Kendall reads the last line of the article aloud.

"It is believed that police activity in the area may have distracted drivers, leading to the accident."

They're all dumbfounded. For Kendall, there's a sense of relief – a sense of having gotten away with something huge.

"That can't be right," Logan says, eyebrows strung together in confusion, "I was kidnapped, or…uh…at least they _think_ I was. That should be in the news."

"Logan's right," says James, making Logan wipe away his invisible sweat, glad that no one picked up his slip up. "They always have incidents with Unwinds in the news. If we're not in there, there's a reason."

Kendall can't believe these two are looking this gift horse in the mouth! He speaks slowly as if to idiots. "No news report mean no pictures – and that means people won't recognize us. I don't see why that's a problem."

James folds his arms, narrowing his eyes at the blonde. "_Why _are there no pictures?"

"I don't know – maybe the police are keeping it quiet because they don't want people to know they screwed up."

James shakes his head. "It doesn't feel right…"

"Who cares how it feels!"

"Keep your voice down!" James says in an angry whisper.

Kendall fights to keep his temper under control. He doesn't say anything for fear he's going to start yelling again and draw attention to them. He can see James puzzling over the situation and Logan looking back and forth between the two of them. _James is not stupid, _thinks Kendall. _He's going to figure out that this is a good thing, and that he's worrying over nothing._

But instead, James says, "If we're never in the news, then who's going to know if we live or die? See – if it's all over the news that they're tracking us, then when they find us, they have to take us down with tranquilizer bullets and take us to be harvested, right?"

Kendall has no idea why he's stating the obvious. "So what's your point?"

James rolls his eyes as if he's talking to a six year old instead of a sixteen year old. "What if they don't want to take us to be unwound? What if they want us dead?"

Kendall opens his mouth to tell him how stupid that is, but stops himself. Because that's not stupid at all.

"Logan," James starts, turning his attention to the quiet boy, "your family is pretty rich, right?"

Logan shrugs modestly. "I guess."

"What if they paid off the police to get you back by killing the kidnappers…and to do it quietly, so no one ever knew it happened?"

Kendall looks to Logan, hoping the kid will laugh at the very suggestion, telling them that his parents would never, ever do such a terrible thing. Logan, however, is curiously silent about it as he considers the possibilities. And in that moment, two things happen. A police car turns onto the street, and somewhere very close by, a baby begins to cry.

_Run!_

This is the first thought in Kendall's mind, his first instinct, but James grabs his arm tightly the moment he sees the police car and it makes Kendall hesitate. The blonde's hesitation can mean the difference between life and death in dire situations. But not today. Today it gives him enough time to do something Kendall rarely does in an emergency. He goes beyond his first thought and processes his _second_ thought: _Running will attract attention_. He forces his feet to stay in one place, and takes a quick moment to assess their surroundings. Cars are starting in driveways as people head off to work. Somewhere a baby is crying. High-school-aged kids are gathered on a corner across the street, talking, pushing each other, laughing. As he looks to James, he can tell they're both of one mid, even before he says, "Bus stop!"

The patrol car rolls leisurely down the street. Leisurely, that is, to someone who has nothing to hide, but to Kendall its slow pace is menacing. There's no way of telling if these officers are looking for them or just on a routine patrol. Again, he fights down the urge to run. He and James turn their backs to the police car, ready to stride off inconspicuously toward the bus stop, but Logan is not with the program. He faces the wrong way, staring straight at the approaching cop car.

"What, are you nuts?" Kendall grabs his shoulder and forces him around. "Just do what we do and act natural." He hisses in Logan's ear.

A school bus approaches from the other direction. The kids at the corner begins gathering their thing. Now, at last, there's permission to run without looking out of place. Kendall begins it, taking a few strides ahead of James and Logan, then turns back, calling with a calculated whine, "C'mon you guys – we're going to miss the bus again!"

The cop car's right behind them now. Kendall keeps his back to it and doesn't turn to see if the officers inside are watching them. If they are, hopefully they'll just hear the conversation and assume this is normal morning mayhem, and not think twice. Logan's version of 'acting normal' is walking with wide eyes and arms stiff by his side like he's crossing a minefield. So much for being inconspicuous. "Do you have to walk so slow?" Kendall yells. "If I get another tardy, I'll get detention."

The squad car rolls past them. Up ahead, the bus nears the stop. Kendall, James and Logan hurry across the street towards it, all part of the charade, just in case the cops are watching them through their rearview mirror. Of course, thinks Kendall, it could backfire on them, and the cops could cite them for jay-walking.

"Are we really going to get on the bus?" Logan asks, taking a sneak glance back at the cops.

"Of course not," James says.

Now Kendall dares to glance at the cop car. Its blinker is on. It's going to turn the corner, and once it does, they'll be safe…But then the school bus stops and turns on its blinking red lights as it opens its door – and anyone who's ever ridden a school bus knows that when those red lights start blinking, all traffic around them must stop and wait until the bus moves on. The cop car comes to a halt a dozen yards short of the corner, waiting until the bus is finished loading. That means that the cop car will still be sitting right there when the bus pulls away. "We're screwed," Kendall says, biting his bottom lip as he starts to panic. "No we _have _to get on the bus."

It's as they reach the sidewalk that a sound which has been too faint and too low-priority to care about suddenly snares Kendall's attention. The crying baby. At the house in front of them, there's a bundle on the porch. The bundle is moving. Kendall instantly knows that this is. He's seen it before. He's seen a storked baby twice on his own doorstep. Even though it's not the same baby, he stops in his tracks as if it is.

"C'mon, Billy! You'll miss the bus!"

"Huh?"

It's James. He and Logan are a few yards ahead of him. He speaks to Kendall through gritted, perfect teeth. "C'mon, 'Billy.' Don't be an idiot."

Kids have already started piling onto the bus. The police car sits motionless behind the blinking red lights. Kendall tries to make himself move, but he can't. It's because of the baby. Because of the way it wails. _This is not the same baby!_ Kendall tells himself. _Don't be stupid. Not now!_

"Kendall." James whispers. "What's wrong with you?"

Then the door of the house opens. There's a fat little kid at the door – six, maybe seven. He stares down at the baby. "Aw, no way!" then he turns and calls back into the house. "Mom! We've been storked again!"

Most people have two emergency modes. Fight and Flight. But Kendall always knew he had three: Fight, Flight, and Screw Up Royally. It was a dangerous mental short circuit. The same short circuit that made him race back toward armed Juvey-cops to rescue Logan instead of saving himself. He could feel it kicking in again right now. He could feel his brain starting to fry. "We've been storked again," the fat kid had said. Why did he have to say "again"? Kendall might have been all right if he hadn't said "again."

_Don't do it! This is not the same baby!_

But to some deep, unreasoning part of his brain, they're all the same baby.

Going against all sense of self-preservation, Kendall bolts straight for the porch. He approaches the door so quickly, the kid looks up at him with terrified eyes and backs into his mother, an equally plump woman who has just arrives at the door. Her face wears an unwelcoming scowl. She stares at Kendall, then spares a quick glance down at the crying baby, but she makes no move toward it.

"Who are you?" She demands. The little boy now hides behind her like a cub behind a mother grizzly. "Did you put this here? Answer me!" The baby continues to cry.

"N-No…No, I-"

"Don't lie to me!"

The blonde doesn't know what he hoped to accomplish coming here. This is none of his business, not his problem. But now, he's made it his problem. And behind him the bus is still loading kids. The police car is still there, waiting. Kendall could have very well just ended his life by coming to this house.

Then there's a voice behind him. "He didn't put it there. I did."

Kendall turns to see James. His face is stony. He won't even look at Kendall. He just glares at the woman with hard hazel eyes, the woman's own beady eyes shifting from Kendall to James.

"Well guess what, you got caught in the act, little dearie," she says. The words 'little dearie' come out like a curse. "The law might let you stork, but only if you don't get caught. So take your baby and go, before I call those cops over."

Kendall tries desperately to unfry his brain. "But…b-but…"

"Just shut up!" James yells his voice full of venom and accession.

This makes the woman at the door smile, but it's not a pleasant thing. "Daddy here ruined it for you, didn't he? He came back instead of just running away." The woman spares Kendall a quick dismissive look. "First rule of motherhood, dearie: Men are screw-ups. Learn it now and you'll be a whole lot happier." James doesn't even register the fact that the woman just referred to him as a girl.

Between them, the baby still cries. It's like a game of steal the bacon, where no one wants to take the bacon. Finally, James bends down and lifts the baby from the welcome mat, holding it close to him. It still cries, but much softly now.

"Now get out of here," says the fat woman, "or you'll be talking to those cops."

Kendall turns to see the cop car partially blocked by the school bus. Logan stands halfway in and halfway out of the bus, keeping the door from closing, a look of utter desperation on his face. The irritated bus driver peers out at him. "C'mon, I don't have all day!"

Kendall and James turn away from the woman at the door and hurry for the bus.

"James, I-"

"Don't," the pretty boy snaps. "I don't want to hear it."

Kendall feels as broken as he did the moment he found out his parents had signed the order to unwind him. Back then, however, he had anger to help dilute the fear and the shock. But there's no anger in him now, except for anger at himself. He feels helpless, hopeless. All of his self-confidence has imploded like a dying star. Three fugitives running from the law. And now, thanks to his short-circuit stupidity, they are three fugitives with a baby.

_**~~Page Break~~**_

James can't even begin to guess what possessed Kendall. Now the brunette realizes the blonde doesn't just make bad decisions, he makes dangerous ones. The school bus only has a few kids on it as they step on, and the driver angrily closes the door behind the, making no comment about the baby. Perhaps because it's not the only baby on the bus. James pushes past Logan and leads the three of them to the back. They pass a girl with her own bundle of joy, which couldn't be any older than six months. The young mother curiously eyes them, and James tries not to make eye contact.

After they're sitting in the back, a few rows away from the nearest riders, Logan looks at James, almost afraid to ask the obvious question. Finally he says, "Uh…why do we have a baby?"

"Ask _him_," James responds, hazel eyes still hard.

Stone-faced, Kendall looks out the window. "They're looking for three boys. Having a baby will throw them off."

"Great! Maybe we should all pick up a baby along the way." James snaps.

Kendall goes visibly red. He turns toward him and holds out his hands. "I'll hold it," he says, but James keeps it away from him.

"You'll make it cry."

James is no stranger to babies. At the state home he occasionally got to work with the infants. This one probably would have ended up at a state home too. He could tell that the woman at the door had no intention of keeping it.

The pretty boy looks at Kendall. Still red, the older male intentionally avoids his gaze. The reason Kendall gave was a bullshit lie. Something else drove him to run to that porch. But whatever the real reason was, Kendall's keeping it to himself.

The bus comes to a jarring halt and more kids get on. The girl at the front of the bus – the one with the baby – makes her way to the back and sits right in front of James, turning around and looking at him over the seat.

"Hi, you must be new! I'm Jennifer, and this is Chase," Her baby looks at James curiously and drools over the back seat. Jennifer picks up the baby's limp hand and makes it wave like she might wave the hand of a toll doll. "Say hello, Chase!" Jennifer seems younger than James.

Jennifer peers around to get a look at the sleeping baby's face. "A newborn! Oh wow! That's so brave of you, coming back to school so soon!" She turns to Kendall. "Are you the father? Or Papa?"

"Me?" Kendall looks flustered and concerned for a moment before he comes to his senses and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm the father."

"That's _sooooo_ great that you're still seeing each other. Rachel – that's Chase's mother – doesn't even go to our school anymore. She got sent to military school. Her parents were so mad when they found out that I was, you know, 'uploaded,' she was afraid they might actually have her unwound. Can you believe it?"

James could strangle this girl if it weren't for the fact that it would leave drooling Chase motherless.

"So, is yours a boy or a girl?"

The pause before answering is awkward and uncomfortable. James wonders whether or not there's a discreet way to check without Jennifer seeing, but realizes there isn't. "Boy," James says. At least there's a 50 percent chance he's right.

"What's his name?"

This time Kendall pipes up. "Lucas. His name is Lucas." This brings forth a little grin from James in spite of how angry he is at Kendall.

"Yeah," James says, nodding his head. "Same as me. Family tradition"

Clearly Kendall has recovered at least a portion of his senses. He seems a bit more relaxed and natural, playing the role as best as he can. The redness in his face has receded until it's only his ears that are red.

"Well you're going to love Center-North High," Jennifer says, swiping her dark bangs out of her eyes. "They've got a great day care center, and really take care of student-parents. Some teachers even let us nurse in class."

Kendall puts his hand over James' shoulder. "Do fathers get to watch?"

James shrugs off his arm, and quietly stomps on the blonde's foot. Kendall winces but says nothing. If he thought he was out of the doghouse, he's dead wrong. As far as James is concerned, Kendall's name is Fido.

"It looks like your brother is making friends," says Jennifer. James looks to where Logan was sitting, but he's moved a seat ahead and is talking to a boy sitting next to him. He tries to hear what they're talking about but can't hear anything beyond Jennifer's blathering. "Or is he _your_ brother?" Jennifer says to Kendall.

"No, he's mine," James says quickly.

Jennifer grins and rolls her shoulders a bit. "He's kind of cute."

James didn't think it was possible to like Jennifer any less than he already did. Apparently he was wrong. Jennifer must see the look in James' eyes, because she says, "Well, I mean cute for a _freshman_."

"He's thirteen. He skipped a grade," James says, burning Jennifer an even meaner warning gaze that clearly says, _Keep your claws away from my little brother_. He has to remind himself that Logan really isn't his little brother. Now it's Kendall's turn to stomp on his foot – and he's right to do it. Too much information. Logan's real age was more that Jennifer needed to know. And besides, making an enemy is not in their best interests.

"Sorry," James says, softening his gaze. "Long night with the baby. It's made me cranky." He offers Jennifer his best smile and she seems to buy it because she is smiling right back.

"Oh, believe me, I've totally been there."

It looks as if the Jennifer Inquisition might continue until they reach the school, but the bus comes to another sudden stop, making Chase bump his chin on the seat back and he begins to cry. Suddenly, Jennifer goes into mother mode, and the conversation ends.

James heaves a deep sigh and Kendall says, "I really am sorry about this." Although he sounds sincere, James isn't accepting any apologies.

_**~~Page Break~~**_

This day has not gone according to plan.

The plan was to get away as soon as they reached civilization. Logan could have run the moment they broke out of the woods. He could have, but he didn't. _There'll be a better time,_ he had thought. A perfect time would present itself if he had patience, and kept watchful. Pretending to be one of them – pretending to be _like _them had taken every ounce of Logan's will. The only think that kept him from going was the knowledge that very soon everything would be as it should be.

When the police car had turned on the street, Logan was fully prepared to throw himself at the car and turn himself in. He would have done it if it weren't for one thing.

Their picture weren't in the paper.

That bothered Logan even more than the others. His family was influential. They were not to be trifled with. He felt certain that his face would be the biggest thing on the front pages. When it wasn't, he didn't know what to think. Even James' theory that his parents wanted him and Kendall killed seemed a possibility. If he gave himself to the police, what if they turned and fired bulled at James and Kendall? Would the police do that? He wanted them brought to justice, but he couldn't bear the thought of their deaths on his head, so he had to let the squad car go past. And now things are worse. Now there's this baby. Stealing a storked baby! These two Unwinds are out of control. He no longer fears that they'll kill him, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous. They need to be protected from themselves. They need…they need…they need to be unwound. Yes. That's the best solution for these two. They're of no use to anyone in their current state, least of all themselves. It would probably be a relief for them, for now they're all broken up on the inside. Better to be broken up on the outside instead. That way their divided spirits could rest, knowing that their living flesh was spread around the world, saving lives, making other people whole. Just as his own spirit would soon rest. He ponders this as he sits on the bus, trying to deny how mixed his feelings about it are.

While James and Kendall talk to a painfully perky girl and her baby, Logan moves one seat forward in the bus, putting more distance between them. A boy gets on the bus and sits down next to him, wearing headphones and singing music that Logan can't hear. The kid slips his backpack in between them on the seat, practically wedging Logan in, and returns his full attention to his tunes. That's when Logan gets an idea. He looks behind him to see Kendall and James still involved with the other girl and her baby. Carefully, Logan reaches into the kid's backpack and pulls out a god-eared notebook. Written on it in big black letter is DEATH BY ALGEBREA, with little skulls and crossbones. Inside are messy math equations and homework graded down for sloppiness. Logan quickly turns to a blank page, then he reaches into the kid's pack again, pulling out a pen. All the while, the kid is so absorbed in his music, he doesn't notice. Logan begins to write:

HELP! I'M BEING HELD HOSTAGE

BY TWO AWOL UNWINDS.

NOD IF YOU UNDERSTAND…

When he's don, he tugs the boy's shoulder. It takes two tugs to get his attention.

"Yeah?"

Logan holds out the notebook, making sure he does it in such a way that it's not too obvious. The boy looks at him and says:

"Hey, that's my notebook."

Logan takes a deep breath. Kendall's looking at him now, bottle green eyes staring holes in the back of his head. He's got to be careful. "I know it's your notebook," Logan says, trying to say as much as he can with his eyes. "I just…needed…one…page…"

He holds the notebook a little higher for the kid to read, but the kid's not even looking at it. "No! You should have asked first." Then he rips out the page without even looking at it, crumples the paper, and to Logan's horror, hurls it toward the front of the bus. The paper wad bounces off the head of another kid, who ignores it, and falls to the floor. The bus comes to a stop, and Logan feels his hope tramples beneath thirty pairs of scuffed shoes.

…

Dozens of buses pull up to the school. Kids mob every doorway. As Kendall gets off the bus with James and Logan, he scans for a way to escape, but there is none. There are campus security guards and teacher on patrol. Anyone seen walking away from school would draw attention of everyone watching.

"We can't actually go in," James says, offering a few girls a smile as he bounces the baby in his hands.

"I say we do," says Logan, acting more squirrely than usual. A teacher has already taken notice of them. Even though the school has a day care for student mothers/papas, the baby is very conspicuous.

"We'll go in," Kendall starts planning. "We'll hide in a place where there aren't any security cameras. The boy's bathroom."

"Girls'," James says, staring at a passing security guard before turning his attention onto Kendall. "It'll be cleaner and there'll be more stalls to hide in."

Kendall considers it, and figures he's probably right on both counts. "Fine. We'll hide until lunch, then slip out with the rest of kids going off campus."

"You're assuming this baby wants to cooperate?" James asks. "Eventually it's going to want to be fed – and I don't exactly have the materials, if you know what I mean. If it starts crying in the bathroom, it will probably echo throughout the whole school."

It's another accusation. Kendall can hear it in his voice. It says: _Do you have any idea how much harder you've made things on us?_

"We'll have to take our chances. Let's just hope it doesn't cry. And if it does, you can blame me all the way to the harvest camp."

* * *

Kendall is no stranger to hiding in schools bathrooms. Of course, before today, the reason was simply to get out of class. Today, however, there's no class where he's expected, and if he's caught, the consequences are a little bit more severe than Saturday school.

They slip in after the first period bell rings and Kendall coaches them on the finer points of bathroom stealth. How to tell the difference between kids' footsteps and adults'. When to lift your feet up so no one can see you, and when to just announce that the stall is occupied. The latter would work for Logan, since his voice is still somewhat high, and maybe even James, but Kendall doesn't dare to pretend to be a girl. They stay together yet alone, each in their own stall. Mercifully, the bathroom door squeals like a pig whenever it's opened, so they have a warning when anyone comes in. There are a few girls at the beginning of first period but then it quiets down and they are left with no sound but the echoing drizzle of a leaky flush handle.

"We won't make it in here until lunch," James announces from the stall to Kendall's left. "Even if the baby stays asleep."

"You'd be surprised how long you can hide in a bathroom."

"You mean you've done this often?" Logan asks, in the stall to Kendall's right.

Kendall knows this fits right into Logan's image of Kendall as a bad seed. Fine, let him think that. He's probably right.

The bathroom door squeals. They fall silent. Dull, rapid footsteps – it's a student in sneakers. Kendall and Logan raise their feet and James keeps his down, as they had planned. The baby gurgles and James clears his throat, masking the noise perfectly. The girl is in and out in less than a minute. After the bathroom door squeaks closed, the baby coughs. Kendall notices it's a quick, clean sound. Not sickly at all. Good.

"By the way," James suddenly says, "It's a girl."

Kendall thinks to offer to hold it once more, but figures right now that would be more trouble than it's worth. He doesn't know how to hold a baby to keep it from crying. Kendall decides he has to tell them why he went temporarily insane and took the baby. He owes them that much.

"It was because of what that kid said," Kendall says gently.

"What?"

"Back at that house – the fat kid at the door. He said they'd been storked _again_."

"So what? Lots of people get storked more than once." James says.

Then from his other side, Kendall hears, "That happened to my family. I have two brothers and a sister who were brought by the stork before I was born. It was never a problem."

Kendall wonders if Logan actually thinks the stork brought them, or if he's just using it as an expression. He decides he's rather not know. "What a wonderful family. They take in storked babies, and send their own flesh and blood to be unwound. Oh, sorry – _tithed_."

Clearly offended, Logan says, "Tithing's in the Bible; you're supposed to give 10 percent of everything. And storking's in the Bible too."

"No it isn't!"

"Moses," Logan argues back. "Moses was put in a basket in the Nile and was founded by Pharaoh's daughter. He was the first storked baby, and look what happened to him!"

"Yeah, but what happened to the next baby she found in the Nile?" Kendall snaps.

"Will you keep your voices down?" James finally cuts in the argument. "People could hear you in the hall, and anyway, you might wake Didi."

"Didi?" Logan questions.

"The baby, smart one." Comes James' snarky reply.

Kendall takes a moment to collect his thoughts. When he speaks again, it's a whisper, but in a tiled room there are no whispers. "We got storked when I was seven."

"Big deal." James says with an eye roll.

"No, this _was _a big deal. For a whole lot of reasons. See, there were already two natural kids in the family. My parents weren't planning on anymore. Anyway, this baby shows up at our door, my parents start freaking the hell out…and then they have an idea."

"Do I want to hear this?" James asks slowly.

"Probably not." But Kendall's not about to stop. He knows if he doesn't spill this now, he's never going to. "It was early in the morning, and my parents figured no one saw the baby left at the door, right? So the next morning, before the rest of us got up, my dad put the baby on a doorstep across the street."

There's a small gasps from Logan's stall. "That's illegal! Once you get storked, that baby's yours."

"Yeah, but my parents figured, who's gonna know? My parents swore us to secrecy, and we waited to hear the news from across the street about their new, unexpected arrival…but it never came. They never talked about getting storked and we couldn't ask them about it, because it would be a dead giveaway that we'd dumped the baby on them." As Kendall speaks, the stall, as small as it is, seems to shrink around him. The blonde knows the others are there on either side, but he can't help but to feel desperately alone. "Things go on like it never happened. Everything was quiet for a while, and then two weeks later, I open the door and there on that stupid welcome mat, is another baby in a basket…and I remember…I remember I almost laughed. Can you believe it? I thought it was funny, and I turned back to my mother, and I say 'Mom, we got storked again.' – just like that little kid this morning said. My mom, all frustrated, brought the baby in…and that's when she realizes-"

"Oh no!" Says James, figuring out even before Kendall says:

"It's the same baby!" Kendall tries to remember the baby's face, but he cant. All he can see in his mind's eyes is the face of the baby James now holds. "it turns out that the baby had been passed around the neighborhood for two whole weeks – each morning, left on someone else's doorstep…only now it's not looking too good."

The bathroom door squeals and Kendall fall silent. A flurry of footsteps. Two girls. They chat a bit about boys and dates and parties with no parents around. They don't even use the toilets. Another flurry of footsteps heading out, the squeal of the door and they are along again.

"So…what happened to the baby?" James asks slowly, not sure if that would set Kendall off. But it doesn't as the blonde male continues.

"By the time it landed on our doorstep again, it was sick. It was coughing like a seal and its skin and eyes were yellow."

"Jaundice," James says gently. "A lot of babies show up at StaHo that way."

"My parents brought it to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do. I was there when it died. I _saw_ it die." Kendall closes his eyes and grits his teeth, to keep the tears back. He knows the others can't see them, but he doesn't want them to some anyways. "I remember thinking, if a baby was going to be so unloved, why would God want it brought into this world?"

He wonders if Logan will have some pronouncement on the topic – after all, when it comes to god, Logan claimed to have all the answers. But all Logan says is, "I dint know you believed in God."

Kendall takes a moment to push his emotions down, then continues. His eyes are a golden red from his unshed tears. "Anyway, since it was legally ours, we paid for the funeral. It didn't even have name and my parents couldn't bear to give it one. It was just 'Baby Knight' and even though no one had wanted it, the entire neighborhood came to the funeral. People were crying like it was their baby that had died…and there's when I realized that the people who were crying – they were the ones who had passes that baby around. They were the ones, just like my own parents, who had a hand in killing it."

There's silence now. The leaky flush handle drizzles. Next door in the boy's bathroom a toilet flushes, and the sound echoes hollowly around the,

"People shouldn't give away babies that get left at their door." Logan is the first to speak up after a full minute of silence.

"People shouldn't do a lot of things," Kendall says, his voice hard and rough. He knows they're both right , but it doesn't make a difference. In a perfect world, people would want all their babies, and strangers would open their homes to the unloved. In a perfect would everything would either be black or white, right or wrong, and everyone would know the difference. But this isn't a perfect world. The problem, is people who think it is.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know."

In a few moments, the bell rings, and there's commotion in the hall. The bathroom door creaks open. Girls laughing, talking about everything and nothing.

"_Next time wear a dress."_

"_Can I borrow your history book?"_

"_That test was impossible."_

Unending squeals from the door and constant tugs on Kendall's locked stall door. No one's tall enough to look over, no one has any desire to look under. The late bell rings; the last girl hurries to class. They've made it to second period. If they're lucky, this school will have a midmorning break. Maybe they can sneak out then. In James' stall, the baby is making wakeful noises. Not crying but sort of clicking. On the verge of hungry tears.

"Should we change stalls?" Asks James. "Repeat visitors might get suspicious if they see my feet in the same stall."

"Good idea." Listening closely to make sure he can't hear any footfalls in the hall, Kendall pulls open his stall, switching places with James. Logan's door is open as well, but he's not coming out. Kendall pushes Logan's door open all the way. He's not there.

"Logan?" He looks to James, who just shakes his head. They check every stall, then check the one Logan was in again, as if he might appear – but he doesn't. Logan is gone. Kendall sees red. James is beginning to panic and the baby begins wailing for all it's worth.

* * *

**Well there was Chapter Two. I just wanted to let you all know th**at **I've been working on a bunch of different stories and short stories. You guys should be seeing me updated some new projects very soon. School started back so I have to make a schedule where I can do homework and write. I'm still working on the next chapter of TBO, im not liking how its turning out so I'm trying to think of a better way to work through this next chapter. Other than that, I will be posting one or two new stories very soon, so keep a look out for that. Until then, please review and tell me your thoughts on this story. I  
love them! **

**As always,**

**Kaylah : )**


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